Lygari
by Katie Grey
Summary: Loki escapes Thanos, only to end up in the hands of SHIELD. He's panicking, bleeding, holding a glowing green rock to his chest, and about to be executed. Fury seems to think Tony is going to tolerate that, but he never knew Tony very well. FrostIron. WARNING: torture and rape.
1. Chapter 1

_So… this is gonna be long. And really dark, and really angsty. It's an idea that just came to me one day, and I've expanded on it a lot, giving it a proper plot and all that stuff, because unfortunately I can't get away with writing pages upon pages of purposeless character abuse. (Actually, I probably could, but I'd be too disturbed by myself to post it.)_

_Anyway. I'm going to put a WARNING here, for graphic rape, graphic torture, PTSD, panic attacks, a kind of sort of eating disorder (?), language, an M/M relationship, mild self-harm, and something that might be considered body horror. (Wow, that was a long list.)_

_So some aspects of this story were inspired by Don't Look Down by NamelesslyNightlock (it's posted on AO3.) It's a wonderful story, where Tony and Loki support and help each other through all their trauma, all the while being dark and killing people… it's amazing. Tony and Loki are probably more fucked up in my story, and they don't kill nearly as many people, but if you look close you can probably see some similarities._

_The first two chapters are the worst. The rest of the story is angsty, but these two are ANGSTY. So if you're eating chicken nuggets, maybe put them down while you're reading these, because I wouldn't want to ruin your appetite. That would be tragic._

_Song for these first two chapters: Valentine by Luna Delirious. It has the kind of dark vibe that helps me get through writing this shit. _

_And thanks to DocWordsmith for beta reading! :)_

()()()

They told him they would break him. He should have listened.

But when two Chitauri put their gristly, coarse hands on his shoulders and forced him, seething, to his knees, Loki did not listen to what Thanos was saying. His voice boomed across his sad excuse for a throne room, from where he was seated on a chair crowned by iron spikes. But Loki did not listen. Instead, he kept his head high and looked around the place, searching for an exit, an escape route, a weak point.

The walls were crumbling, and he could see the brilliant chasm of a sky - an entire galaxy overhead, trailing away into the darkness like an unfinished sentence, neon ribbons of crimson, studded with flecks of white light. Stars.

He didn't recognize it. He didn't know where he was.

"Pay attention," the left Chitauri growled, tightening its grip on its shoulder. It fingers dug into his skin like thorns. Loki hissed in annoyance, flipped his hair out of his eyes, and reluctantly glanced up at Thanos.

He was draped casually over his throne, his elbow resting on the armrest, his legs spread - rather rudely, Loki thought. He was careful to keep his eyes on Thanos' face.

"You knew this would come," Thanos said, voice so low that Loki could almost feel it, humming through his bones. "A new kind of suffering, a fate worse than death. I almost hoped you would fail, so I could watch you crumble." He raised his hands, gesturing at the room around them. "And here you are. Helpless."

Loki's magic was gone. Taken, by Odin. It must have been so easy for Thanos to steal him from his cell in the dead of night. He gritted his teeth. _That_ may have been easy, but nothing else would be easy for Thanos, from now on.

And he was quite good at making things difficult for other people.

Helpless. Thanos thought him helpless. Loki could have laughed. He was never helpless, and the ones who thought he was were always the ones who fell the hardest. And once Thanos fell, Loki would have a wonderful time tearing him apart.

"Naturally," Loki said. "I don't have any magic, I can't move, and I'm skinny as a tree branch, or so I've been told. Did you expect me to be anything else? But you only feel safe when I'm defenseless… I thought better of you." He cast his eyes to the side, pretending to be deep in thought. "I have absolutely no idea why I thought better of you, actually."

Thanos' mouth curled up into a smile. His mouth, and his square chin, was all Loki could see, because his eyes were cast into shadow by his gaudy golden helmet. Gold lined his arms, his chest, his thighs. Loki wrinkled his nose. It was bad taste. And besides, it reminded him of the palace in Asgard, with its gold walls and gold ceiling and stupid gold chairs.

And it crashed down on him.

He wasn't in Asgard. He wouldn't see Asgard again for a long, long time.

Why couldn't he have succeeded? Why did he have to fail? Why couldn't it have gone _right_ for once?

Why couldn't Odin have been telling the truth when he said Loki would never get out of his cell?

He wished he was dreaming, but he knew he wasn't. He remembered the shock that shot through his body when they woke him up, when he saw their dark eyes and their hands, touching him, grabbing him. He remembered shouting. And knowing that no one would hear.

A blur of motion, darkness. His feet scrambling for a hold on the ground as they dragged him away. Pain. Black.

Waking up here.

And it could be a nightmare if it wasn't for the pain. For the touch. For the stifling warmth of this stinking hellhole.

Thanos' smile widened. He must have seen some sign on Loki's face, the realization striking him like a bolt of lightning. Loki quickly forced his eyes into their comfortable blankness, and his lips into a sneer, pulling them mercilessly back like they had been hooked by a fishing line.

"You may say you are better than me," Thanos said, his eyes lazily scanning Loki's body. "But which of us is on his knees, Laufeyson?"

Loki exhaled sharply at the name, glaring daggers. He clenched his fists and jerked against the hands of the Chitauri, rising to his feet even as they dug their pincer-hands into his shoulders, trying to force him back down. Fools. He was a god. He stepped back, kicked one of them in the side, and whirled to get the other one, his knee jamming into its groin.

Chitauri were not so different from Aesir. It went down with a groan, writhing in agony. Loki grinned savagely, raising his head as others advanced on him from the shadows of the throne room, daggers in their hands. He dropped back into a fighting stance. He did not miss the eagerness in the way they walked, but he matched it with his own mad grin, beckoning them forward.

He would go down, he knew it. And he knew all too well what would come after.

But he would not go down easily.

And if Thanos thought he would, then he was sadly mistaken. Loki would fight until his last breath.

But they were like cats, toying with him. He would dodge a blow, and another would strike him in the back with a claw, making his breath catch, making him arch his back in pain. One of them drew its talon of a finger across his arm, almost lazily, and he hissed and yanked it away as it split into a bloodied mess. When he backed up, he walked straight into the oncoming fist of another, and it caught him in the jaw, making his world explode into pain and darkness.

He went down.

But his eyes burned with uncontained rage, defiance, even though his head was swimming and he was fighting for air, even though his head was ringing and he gasped aloud when one of them delivered a vicious kick to his side.

His hands were splayed on the floor, fingers trying to grip it, like it was a lifeline. He couldn't hold up his head. He gagged on blood.

"I do not take failure lightly," Thanos said, descending the staircase with the grating sound of gold on gold. "You will be an example. I will break you, and the universe will watch, and no one else will ever fail me again, for fear of becoming the huddled, ruined mess that you will be."

He leaned down, and now Loki could see his eyes. Bright with his victory.

Loki spat blood in his face. "Never."

Thanos' eyes hardened. He stood, and at his full height he towered over Loki, who was lying on the ground. "Good," he murmured, as he wiped the red stain from the side of his head, and rubbed away a drop that had trickled down his chin, and stained the edge of his lips. "It is much more fun to break something that wants desperately to remain whole."

Loki didn't see the kick coming. He should have.

The side of his head burst into flame with a _crack_. Everything went dark.

()()()

He would forget that first day. He would forget everything but the pain and the tears and the horrible, sickening feeling in his gut.

But while he was there, in the dark cell they put him in, with its four stone walls, stone ceiling and floor, and absolutely nothing else but shadows, it was the monotony that he hated. He sat against the wall, arms resting on his knees, and watched as big green and purple bruises bloomed on his skin like flowers. Sometimes he paced, or examined the door, searching for a weakness he already knew he wouldn't find. But he hated the monotony, for he would end up drowning in the dread that resided in his chest, an unwanted occupant of a vacant space. Heavy, painful, like a jagged rock, weighing him down and making it hard to breathe.

He massaged his jaw. He gripped his side.

And as the seconds and the minutes ticked by, feeling like years, he recited. Passages from books. Poems. Spells - although they were useless now. Anything, and everything. Over and over and over again. The Chitauri guard outside his door must have thought he was mad, but it didn't make him stop, so Loki continued to recite. Pacing, speaking.

Fitting, that the sound of his own voice was the only thing that comforted him, kept him from going mad because of the boredom.

And the dread. The dread lurked in the back of his mind, following him wherever he went. Reminding him of how much pain was to come. This had no purpose. They didn't need anything from him other than revenge. They probably would never kill him. It would just keep getting worse, and worse, because that was how this _worked_.

Not that the pain would make him give in.

He would not surrender to something so lowly as that.

There in the dark, he made a promise. "I will not break," he said. And he repeated it, with more force. "I will not break," over and over until he believed it.

He added it to his recitation. An account of the War of the Sand Dunes of Svartalheim, paragraphs from the yellowed scrolls of the Ancients, quotations from famous scholars, back when scholars were respected. And that same sentence. "Ég mun ekki brjóta. I will _not_ break."

()()()

Thanos must have been impatient, because they came not long after. When they came, he called it the second day. Why not?

Two Chitauri. They wrapped their claw-fingers around his arms, pinching. He sighed, loudly. "I can just walk, you know."

They dragged him anyway, and he stumbled at first before almost running to keep up with them. But when they reached the throne room, they jerked on his arms, making sure that he was staggering as he approached Thanos' throne. Petty.

"For the record," he said, as they forced him to his knees again. "That room was really lacking in style, and decor, but somehow it smelled better than _this_ place." He made a show of scrunching up his nose. "Is that _you_? Definitely smells like you. Also smells like a rotting boar."

Thanos mouth split into a smile. "I will miss your wit, Laufeyson. A pity."

"Yes, it really would be. Not as pitiful as you, of course, hiding behind your little army. Where is the glory in that, oh-so-glorious Titan? Do you think I fear you?"

Thanos laughed.

Loki cocked his head to the side. "No, actually, _that_ wasn't a joke. I was being serious. I really think you're rather pathetic."

The right Chitauri dug a claw into his shoulder, hissing, "Be quiet."

Loki hissed back in pain and irritation. "You could have just _asked_ me…"

This time, its claw broke skin. A stabbing pain shot through his arm, and up his neck. It took a huge effort to keep from crying out. Inwardly, he cursed himself for talking. And outwardly, he glared at Thanos, chest heaving, and clenched his fists, imagining them wrapped around Thanos' neck, choking the life out of him.

Blood fell down his arm in a single stream, a jagged line, almost pretty. Loki stared at it.

"You should obey," Thanos said, amusement in his eyes. "Or it will be worse for you."

"I will never obey you," Loki said.

He would not break.

"You should have been quiet," the left Chitauri said. It kicked him in the side.

_The heart is beautiful_

_To those who appreciate the ugly, deformed things,_

_The things which are shoved away into their corners, crevasses and caves,,_

_And left there to rot._

He recited it, over and over in his mind, even as he clutched his side against his will, panting, gasping for air. It hadn't broken any of his ribs, hadn't fractured any bones, he was okay, he was fine, he was _fine_ this was _fine_ he could _take it._

They wrenched his hands away, and there were cold things, sharp things, poking into the skin of his arms. He didn't realize what was happening, he couldn't think, his mind was a hurricane, whirling.

They slashed his arms with their claws.

He gritted his teeth against the scream, fighting to escape his throat.

Pain? So this was Thanos' plan? _Pain_? He thought this would break him?

He could break his body. Yes, he could break his body into pieces. But Thanos would _never_ be able to break his mind.

He held that thought close to his chest, he cradled it in his arms like it was the most precious thing in the world.

"Do you understand?" Thanos asked. "Disobey, and you suffer. Obey, and you… suffer slightly less." His lips parted in a horrible smile.

Loki did not look at him. He kept his eyes fixed on the sky outside, and he breathed slowly, in out, in out. Deep breaths. Yes, that was what he needed. Deep breaths.

"Do you understand?" Thanos asked, again. "Answer me."

Loki almost rolled his eyes. But he wasn't about to let them hurt him over something as unimportant as this. "I understand," he said, injecting as much sarcasm as possible into his voice.

"Your excess words are not needed. Yes, or no."

Loki sucked in a deep breath. "Yes."

"Good."

He didn't expect it, so he gasped, embarrassingly, when they lifted him up. But he did not stumble when they led him away. He was proud of that.

()()()

It was not only pain.

On day four, they offered him water. He was thirsty, so thirsty that he had stopped reciting, had stopped speaking aside from when Thanos demanded an answer, because it hurt to swallow.

The Chitauri sneered at him, holding the glass out towards him.

Loki reached for it.

A claw speared him, in the stomach. He doubled over, crossing his arms, squeezing his eyes shut. He tried to pretend like it didn't hurt but it _did_. He breathed slowly, in out, in out, slowly. Don't forget to breathe slowly.

"Did I say you could reach for it?" the Chitauri asked. "You don't do _anything_ unless I say you can." It poured the water out, onto the floor.

Loki watched it fall, feeling faint.

The Chitauri grabbed his arm and pulled him out. They took him to the throne room. Immediately, Loki straightened, and forced on a smile and a saunter. "So that's your great plan, is it? Dehydration?" He splayed his hands in the air, and widened his eyes, pretending to be impressed. "Wow."

Thanos laughed again.

()()()

Day seven. Loki was hungry.

"Tell me, Laufeyson. Tell me, and you will eat. Why did you fail?"

He wrapped his arms over his stomach, trying to ease the pain of his hunger. He took several deep breaths, and he winced when the Chitauri dug their claws into his skin. Then he forced himself to stand still, to plaster on a disdainful glance. He was just hungry. He had been hungry before.

But what did Thanos want him to say? This wasn't a yes or no question. What was he supposed to do?

Thanos eyes narrowed with impatience. He raised his hand.

"Just _wait_, I'm _thinking_..." Loki said, but it was too late, and he had hesitated too long.

He grunted at the punch to his arm, to the same place where four long red lines marred his skin. But he did not cry out, and he did not scream.

_20,000 elvin foot soldiers, 12,000 archers, 8,000 on horseback._

_30,000 Aesir foot soldiers, 3,000 archers, 15,000 on horseback._

"Why did you fail?" Thanos repeated.

"I…" Loki swallowed, trying to gather his thoughts. It was just pain but god, did it hurt. "Because of Thor, and his _human friends_," he spat the word like it was venom. "They…"

"No," Thanos interrupted. A claw broke the skin of his shoulder blade, and he hissed.

"No," Loki repeated, tasting the word. Panic rose up, because he didn't know what Thanos wanted, but he forced it back down. He wouldn't submit to panic. "Because of their weapons. Because of their military. Because of…"

"No." Another claw stabbed into his shoulder.

_38,000 dead elvin warriors. 2,000 prisoners._

_8,000 dead Aesir warriors. No prisoners._

_The War of the Sand Dunes of Svartalfheim, known there as the Great Massacre._

"I see you are more incompetent than I thought," Thanos said. "The answer, Laufeyson, is that you are _pathetic._ You are worthless. You are weak, and too stupid to follow simple orders. Now, repeat it."

Loki hesitated.

And then he smiled.

"No."

()()()

His body was covered in colorful bruises, like a flower garden. He was glad they hadn't given him a mirror.

He closed his eyes and sighed. It reminded him of sitting in the grass, beside the roses that grew in the gardens outside of the palace, with a breeze lifting his hair. Silence, and peace.

He wondered if his false family would care that he was gone.

He wondered if the roses were growing, without his spells to keep them big and bright and smelling sweet. Perhaps no one had bothered to water them. Perhaps they were dead.

()()()

Eighth day.

Instead of emptying his filthy bucket of waste, they poured it out onto the floor.

There was no reason. He had not disobeyed, he had not spoken.

They left with no explanation, nothing but a swift kick to the stomach, sending him crashing to the ground, his hands and his knees soaked in his own piss and shit.

There was no reason.

He fell asleep in the corner, stomach churning.

And after that, he tensed every time one of them came near, bracing for a blow.

()()()

Tenth day.

"Are you hungry?" Thanos asked.

One of the Chitauri held out a piece of meat, dangled it in front of Loki's eyes.

He hadn't eaten in days. His stomach was hollow. _Of course he was hungry._

"Yes," he said. It hurt to speak, because he was so thirsty. He spoke anyway.

"Then repeat it. You are pathetic, you are worthless, weak, too stupid to follow simple orders."

Loki's chapped lips split into a grin. "_You_ are pathetic," he said. "_You_ are worthless, _you_ are weak, and your brain is the size of a beetle."

One Chitauri threw him to the ground and held him there. The other hit him in the back with a stick, again and again. He flung his arms over his head, squeezed his eyes shut, bit his lip and recited in his mind.

_I will not break._

_I will not break._

But the pain just kept coming, and each heavy blow was like the thud of an axe slicing into a block of wood. Eventually, he would be cut in half.

When the twenty-first blow came, a noise escaped Loki's lips - just a _noise_, pure agony wrapped in sound waves. Guttural, ragged and raw. The Chitauri laughed.

By the twenty-fifth, he was curled up on his side, writhing, hands tangled in his hair. Screaming. His screams bounced off the walls, shrieking at him, mocking him.

They went to thirty.

And it was just _pain._ So what if he screamed? That said nothing. If someone did that to Thanos, he would have wailed like a baby.

But later, lying curled up in the comforting shadows of the corner of his cell, with his arms still thrown protectively over his head, Loki felt like he had lost.

()()()

Three days of this.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes."

"Then repeat it."

He did not joke. He was too tired. He just said no.

And his mind was all he had, but it was harder to focus on reciting, on the many ways he would cut Thanos apart once he escaped, on the quickly diminishing number of brain cells that Thanos owned, because he was so hungry. And so hollow. And hurting.

On the third day, choking on the pain that _just kept coming_, Loki wished he had done what Thanos asked. And he hated himself for wishing.

On the fourth day, he did.

"I am pathetic," he said, so quietly that Thanos leaned in to hear, a manic grin cutting across his face. "I am worthless. I am weak. I am too stupid to follow simple orders."

After that, they gave him a rag and a bucket of water to clean the floor of his cell. They gave him food and water, and they gave him a pillow.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked the Chitauri's retreating back, from where he sat in the corner, clutching the pillow tightly to his chest.

The Chitauri turned slowly, a sneer firmly fixed on its face. "How do you train a dog? Punish it when it does wrong, reward it when it does right," it said. And it left, shutting the door quietly - _kindly_ \- and leaving Loki alone in the dark.

He took a shuddering breath, and buried his face in the pillow.

Softness. Warmth.

It reminded him of Asgard. Of his home. Of his room, with his bookshelves lining the walls, and all his things and all his books strewn across the floor, because he was called chaos, after all. The scent of lilac flooding in through the window. Perhaps he would be lying on his stomach in his bed, bare feet waving in the air, reading with the light that danced from his fingers.

Maybe Thor would be there. Maybe they would be talking.

He tried to remember the last peaceful conversation he had had with Thor, the last one that hadn't ended in yelling, or in anger. He wasn't sure that the one he remembered had been the last, but it stood out in his mind like a bold, red flower. Bright.

"Dinner'll be made soon," he could hear Thor saying. "Do you want roasted chicken, or baked potatoes? Or both?" He stressed the word _both_, hinting that Loki should go for that option.

And in his mind's eye, he saw himself lounging on the bed, drumming a finger against his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. "Ah," he heard himself saying. "Hmm. Difficult decision. Such a difficult decision, definitely important enough to interrupt my studying for."

"What are you studying?"

Loki narrowed his eyes. "As if you'll understand."

"At least give me a chance."

And that was how Thor ended up sitting cross-legged on Loki's floor, listening as he spewed spellcasting jargon like he was chatting about the weather. It must have been horribly boring, but Thor remained anyway.

Loki had thought nothing of it.

But now…

He hugged the pillow tighter.

He missed his brother.

And his mother.

And everyone. Oh, what he would give to see just one friendly face.

()()()

His vocabulary shrunk drastically.

"Yes."

"No."

"I am pathetic."

"Worthless."

"Weak."

"Stupid."

They didn't allow him to say anything else.

Sometimes he refused. Sometimes, when Thanos ordered him to repeat the words, he shook his head, because he would rather not speak at all than say that. When he refused, he always ended up slumped like a dirty rag in the corner of his cell, with a faint smile on his face, and blood smeared across his skin.

When he didn't refuse, it was easier. But he hated it more. Hated himself, more, for giving in.

Either way, he never said anything else.

So when he was alone, he made sure to speak. Anything. Everything. It didn't matter, as long as he retained his words. They were like precious jewels, and he hid them away in the deepest shadows of his aching heart, like a dragon hoarding its chest of gold.

"I will not break," he told the wall. "Do you hear me? _I will not._ I refuse."

He recited quotes he had learned in childhood. And poems. And numbers, and spells, and pages out of books. And when he was not speaking, he closed his eyes and remembered Frigga - his mother - and her shining, kind eyes. Thor, and his obnoxious hair, his broad shoulders, his warm arms. Even Odin. Even Thor's friends. So he would not lose them.

If he lost them, he would lose himself.

But it was hard. For a week, they did not feed him. They left him alone in the dark, with nothing to occupy him but his circular thoughts, his bruises, and his slow starvation. He wondered if he would die here. He wondered if they would allow that.

He hated it. He no longer had any control over his own life, not even over whether he ate. Whether he spoke. He hated it.

And it was hard. Hours spent huddled in the corner, waiting anxiously for the door to open, unable to sleep. Reciting, reciting, clinging to his thoughts. Unwilling to admit that they were all he had left.

"If you want to eat," Thanos said, on the thirtieth day, after they had jerked him up out of his sleep and dragged him, gasping, to the throne room. "Then bow. Grovel at my feet. Beg for it."

Loki wrapped his arms around the emptiness in his stomach, swaying on his feet. His back still felt like fire.

He wondered what they would do if he said no. After all, they wanted to keep him alive. How else would they have their fun?

So he smiled softly.

"No," he said.

Because he was chaos. He couldn't claim to be unbreakable if he wasn't causing any. He would not make this easy for them.

But Thanos' smile did not disappear.

It grew.

And Loki bared his teeth to match.

They grabbed him, they threw him to the ground but he jerked away and got up again. His words came flooding back, in a raging current like a kick to the jaw. Anger flared in his eyes, in his fists, in his very bones. He was so _angry. _

"Fuck you!" He shouted, writhing in their grip, all elbows and knees and fists. "_Fuck you! _You are pathetic! You will never break me, I will never bow to a monster like you!"

They struck him with their fists. They threw him to the ground. He wanted to rip them limb from limb.

Pain, again.

Just pain.

Not very creative, were they?

Like an inventor, trying different tools - but working with the same piece of metal, and expecting different results. Stupid.

Sure, they used a whip this time and sure_,_ when they held it up, and pinned him down, his heart thudded in his chest and he gasped for air and _sure,_ when it _cracked_ and pain split him down the middle he could not keep silent. Noise erupted from his lips, agony in the form of sound, wrapped up like a fancy gift and presented right to their ears. And they smiled, so they must have liked it. It was sick, the way they smiled.

But just because it hurt didn't mean it was breaking him.

They could beat his body but they could not beat his mind.

They could never beat his mind.

()()()

"So, you bow, Laufeyson," Thanos murmured, getting down on one knee to examine the battered figure who lay at his feet. His shirt was reduced to rags, completely torn, exposing his back, which was sliced open, dripping blood. Blood on his arms, his hands, his face. Pain, pain, pain. Loki had turned to fire. There was nowhere he could go within himself without getting burnt.

But under it all, like he was crawling beneath smoke, he repeated in his head. _I will not break_.

And he realized then, that it was true.

So when he raised his head, he smiled at Thanos. And the fire was his body, so there was fire in his eyes, too.

"Never," he murmured. Dimly, he wondered if he was wishing for a death sentence. But he wouldn't have taken it back if he could.

However, even though he tensed in anticipation, no further pain arrived. Thanos stood, and turned, and lumbered away, out of view. Loki sighed softly and turned his face into his elbow, breathing deeply, embracing the quiet and the dark. Reciting. Remembering.

Wishing he could bash Thanos' head in.

Watch blood cascade down, turning the gold chestplate red as rust. And finally, finally, Loki would not have to look at that hideous chin. How sweet his victory would be.

He knew it would never happen. He wasn't an idiot. He knew there was no way out. He had fallen too far. This was to be his Helheim.

But it was nice to imagine.

()()()

Days passed.

It was all monotonous. All painful.

"Beg for your food," Thanos ordered. "Plead for it."

"No."

"No."

"No."

Until, finally, on the thirty-eighth day, once he had been dragged back to his cell and they were supposed to leave him alone in the dark, one of the Chitauri stayed behind.

Loki remained crouched in the corner, clutching his pillow, careful not to let the wall touch his back. Or any part of him, really. Everything hurt.

He watched the Chitauri warily, like a cornered animal. When it took a step towards him, he tensed. When it reached for him, he flinched away, glaring at it, wishing he could tear it apart with nothing but his eyes.

In its hand was a piece of meat.

"Eat," it said.

He did not take it. His stomach was gone, and there was an empty space where it should be. He was completely hollow, like a tunnel, and it was a dull, throbbing ache, invading his thoughts, making his hands shake. But he did not take it.

"Please," the Chitauri said, leaning down so they were at eye-level. "Eat. Take it. I'm not supposed to be here. Quickly."

Loki snatched it out of his hand, and held it to his chest, against the pillow. It smelled good. His emptiness whimpered.

"Why would you help me?" he asked.

"Contrary to your experience, my race is not all made up of monsters."

The Chitauri left.

He took a bite. How could he not?

But only a few moments later his stomach exploded within him - it must have, for it was the deepest kind of pain, making him double over, unable to breathe - and he retched violently. Nothing came up but water, stringy with mucus and blood. It brought tears to his eyes. He blinked them back angrily because he hadn't cried yet, and he wasn't about to now.

But the pain remained. It burrowed into his bones, like a million hearts, beating out a pulse. He gasped and convulsed and spasmed there on the floor until it finally ended, what seemed like hours later.

His pillow was soaked with blood.

He threw the meat into the bucket of his waste, so there was no chance he would become desperate enough to eat it.

And he curled up on the ground, still hugging his bloody pillow to his chest, and stared at the wall until his mind drifted away to sleep.

()()()

He became a locked box.

He no longer joked.

There was fire in his eyes, but that was all. He was too tired for anything more.

He still said no. He still refused. And he still wasn't broken.

And when he was alone, the box was opened. Words flooded out. Tired words, sure. But not beaten, not bruised. Perfect words, unharmed words. He recited, and he spoke, and as long as he had that, he would not break.

()()()

Day forty-six.

He was lying in his cell. Short, shuddering breaths. Arms wrapped around his stomach. They had taken the pillow, and they had dumped out the bucket again yesterday. The room stank. But his stomach didn't hurt anymore, the pain was distant, and he knew that was a bad sign.

Bruises, which had bloomed before his eyes, now wilted in the dark.

And the door opened.

He whimpered, accidentally, and bit down on the side of his cheek to silence it. _They weren't supposed to come yet._ It hadn't been enough time for his wounds to heal. He pushed himself further into the corner, but when his back accidentally brushed against the wall it burst into flame and he whimpered again. Shit.

Heavy footsteps. Dark boots. He squinted.

The Chitauri didn't wear boots.

A hammer swinging from its hand. _A hammer_. A beautiful, silver hammer, the most glorious thing he had ever seen.

It - no, _he_ \- knelt at Loki's side. "Loki," he murmured, "Brother," in Thor's voice. Thor's voice. Thor.

Loki reached for him. Grabbed on tightly to his hands, relished in their warmth. Thor pulled him up and Loki threw himself into his brother's arms, not caring that it set his still-healing wounds on fire, not caring about the pitiful sight he must be.

He made it.

He was going to get out. He was going to be free. And he hadn't broken. _He did it._

"I'm so sorry," Thor said. "I tried to find you. I looked everywhere. But I never thought you would be _here_. I'm so sorry. Brother, I will make this right. No one will ever hurt you again."

* * *

_Please leave a review! I'd love to know your thoughts. :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hellooo. So this chapter is rough, and is definitely not chicken nugget safe. I don't give trigger warnings at the beginning of chapters because they're pretty spoilery, so there's a warning at the beginning of the last chapter for all the possible triggers in this story, and one of them will be very prominent here. **_

**_Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this sadistic shit that I mind-barfed all over your keyboard._**

**()()()**

Thor took him to Asgard - he must have - for Loki soon found himself in a dark room, a _different _room. It was small, cramped, and drab, and he wished he could leave and go to the palace, but it was different and that was all that mattered.

"We need to heal your wounds," Thor explained, gently. "You will remain here for a few days."

Loki nodded. He was not about to complain.

The last few minutes had been a blur. He must have been dangerously injured, for he remembered nearly nothing. No familiar whirlwind of the Bifrost, no fresh air or sunlight hitting his face as they walked to this healing room. His mind was a haze, a foggy haze. But he didn't mind. He lay there in the warmth with Thor beside him, and he was perfectly content.

The healer walked in, and perhaps he had flinched, for Thor rested an arm on his shoulder protectively. But he quickly snapped out of it. They were not going to hurt him. He would _not_ be affected by what they did to him.

But when the healer moved behind him, and began to remove the ragged pieces of cloth that were his shirt, Loki froze, and his breath got stuck in his throat. Thor held him tight. "It's all right," he said. "She's just going to fix your back."

Loki remembered Thor's words, and he clutched them as tightly as he had clutched that filthy pillow. _No one will ever hurt you again._

_I did not break._

_I beat them, and I did not break._

_I won._

Frigga arrived moments later, with her hand covering her mouth and tears shining in her eyes. Loki was too tired to do anything but smile when he saw her. She knelt at his side, next to Thor, and cradled his face in her hands. "My son," she said. "My poor son…"

Loki shook his head, as well as he could when he was lying on his side. "No. I'm okay. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

But she didn't leave, neither of them did, until the healing magic had seeped its way into his skin, had stitched together his wounds, until all that was left were thin, white scars. The bruises withered and died. The blood vanished. Loki sighed softly when it was done. He felt so light.

"Thank you," he said to the healer.

She smiled at him. "It is nothing." And she left the room.

Loki breathed out slowly.

"Loki," Thor said. "I'm so sorry. I should have been watching closer, I should not have allowed those savages to do this to you. It's my fault."

"If it is his fault, then it is mine as well," Frigga said. "It is all of ours."

"It's _okay_, mother," Loki said. "I'm just so glad to be home."

It was true. He hadn't realized how much he missed Asgard, how much he loved it, until it was gone. And the same went for Thor and Frigga. He loved them so much.

Frigga planted a kiss on his forehead. "Come with us to the gardens," she said. "I know you love them. And you will eat, and drink, and sleep. But come with us."

"Of course."

()()()

Lavender trailed after them on the wind, hanging lightly in the air. Loki breathed deeply, slowly, freely, as he followed Thor and Frigga through the flowers.

"The roses!" he cried. "They're alive!"

Frigga turned slowly, smiled at him, and picked one. She held it out to him. He took it, closed his eyes, and smelled it. It was freshness and beauty and everything he had been deprived of for so long. He held it close to his chest.

They sat together on a bench. Thor had obtained a plate of chicken from somewhere, and he gave it to Loki. "Eat slowly," he said. Loki knew, of course. But it was so hard to resist.

He took small bites. It was heaven.

He drank water, and it soothed his chapped lips, his parched throat.

He leaned heavily on Thor's shoulder, and Thor wrapped at arm around him, and Loki fell asleep, perfectly at peace.

()()()

They held a feast in his honor. It was all cheering and drinking and toasting to his name. Raucous conversations, clamorous laughter. Burly, muscular warriors crowding the hall, and all of them appreciating him, caring about him, for the first time.

Loki stood beside Odin's throne, in Thor's place. Odin gave him a smile, and Loki returned it, almost shyly. He wasn't used to all this attention. Good attention.

He was more than accustomed to bad attention.

No.

He shook his head slightly, and forced that small smile to cross his face again. He would not let them get to him. He would not remember.

Thor put a hand on his shoulder, as if he could sense something was wrong. Loki smiled at him, and Thor smiled back.

"To Loki Odinson! To coming home!" Odin cried, standing and raising his goblet. The room of warriors stood as well, all chanting, "To coming home!" They banged their cups together, and they drank in his honor. Loki's smile became genuine.

()()()

He spent the rest of the day in his room. On his bed, with his feet waving in the air. He picked up a book and began from the place he had left off, as if he had never been gone at all.

At first, he clutched his pillow to his chest.

Then he realized what he was doing, and flung it across the room. He didn't have to be afraid anymore. He won. And when he found Thanos, found him in whatever dirty corner of the universe he was cowering in, he would rip his skin from his body, he would tear his limbs into pieces, and he would laugh at the top of his lungs.

Anger. Loki clenched his fists. How dare Thanos do this to him? There was so much anger, all of a sudden.

The scent of lavender drifted in through his open window. Golden, hazy sunlight fell in a rectangle across his bed, and dust drifted through it lazily. Loki closed his book with a snap, sat up, and looked outside, for a long time. His eyes traced the familiar path that led to the gardens, they hovered over the bushes of flowers, the waving, tall grass, the golden spires and domes of a city in the distance, turning the horizon to a geometric pattern of squares and circles.

And it sunk in.

He was home. He was free.

It would take time, but he would be all right. They would never hurt him again. He had a life to live, once more. He had something beyond the four walls of a prison cell, he had something more than a bloody pillow to cling to. He was Loki and he survived Thanos, he would _kill_ Thanos, and he would be all right, in the end. As long as he had his home, and as long as he had his family, he would be all right.

"I am not pathetic," he told the sun. "I am not worthless. I am not weak. I am not stupid, and I follow no one's orders. I am Loki. I am strong."

He waited until the sun's light dimmed, until the shadows lengthened and obscured his view. Then he laid down on his bed, reveling in the softness, in all the things he had been deprived of for so long. A full stomach. Books. Things to do. People to talk to.

He wished he had his magic. Although he wasn't hungry, he still felt empty without it.

Why hadn't Odin given him his magic?

(And how had they known where he was?)

But he decided not to think about that. Now was the time for sleeping. It would be a beautiful, deep sleep, and he would wake up refreshed, ready to live. To claim back what was rightfully his.

And once he had done that, he would bash Thanos' head in.

()()()

He talked with Thor during breakfast - eggs, ham, and beer - about the food, the feast last night, the mess left by the warriors. He laughed when Thor mentioned the destruction they had caused to the rest of Asgard. After all, hundreds of drunken warriors did not stand a chance of returning home quietly, or carefully. Beer was sloshed over the streets, there had been several petty robberies, a few poor souls had been skewered by arrows or knives. The roads were cluttered with broken glass, beard hair, and lost/forgotten shoes. The feast hall was even worse - overturned tables, food staining the walls. It was like a bar fight had gone out of hand, and extended over all of Asgard.

"Ruffians," Loki murmured fondly, shaking his head. "I'm surprised this realm hasn't descended into anarchy yet."

Thor likely did not understand the meaning of the word, "Anarchy," because he responded to Loki's statement with blank eyes and an awkward laugh. "Aye. But it was a good feast, was it not?"

"Yes," Loki said, wistfully. "It was a good feast."

After breakfast, he walked with Frigga through the halls of the palace. She kept repeating how sorry she was, but he waved her apologies away. "No need. No need to be sorry. It was not your fault, and besides, I am all right!" he spun in a circle. "See? Good as new."

She did not seem convinced. "But things like this," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder, stilling him. "Do not simply disappear. I am afraid for you. I think this is hurting you more than you would care to admit."

Loki stared at her. "Hurting me? Mother, it is over! I am back home. Nothing will ever hurt me again."

She shook her head, pursed her lips. "Are you sure?"

Loki was growing angry. He was Loki, he was not pathetic or weak. This would not affect him, he would not allow it. So he stepped away from her, and tangled his fingers in his hair, turning away and saying, "You should not discuss things you do not understand. I am _fine._" He raised his chin and walked away, leaving her there.

He spent the rest of the day wandering. Revisiting all his old places. The library. The hidden corridors of the palace. He still wasn't used to all this freedom, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched, that someone was going to step out of the darkness and grab him, and force him to his knees.

So he went back to his room. There were no shadows there. And it felt safe.

He collapsed on his bed, and rested his head on the pillow. That lasted for a few, agonizing minutes, before he gave in and hugged the pillow to his chest, curling his body around it.

"_Repeat it!" Thanos shouted. "Say the words!"_

_But Loki shook his head. "No."_

_And the whip reared its ugly head, twisting like a snake. Hissing, it snapped downwards, baring its fangs. Loki buried his face in his arms, bracing himself, but the incredible pain of it was not possible to brace for. It was splitting him apart._

_He screamed into his arms, covering his head, curling up into himself on the ground. But the snake lunged at him, again and again, its fangs stabbing into his flesh. _

Loki tensed, his nails digging into the pillow, burying his head in it.

Maybe the snake had poisoned him. Was that why he couldn't forget?

"But I am not broken," he said, reassuring himself. He took a deep breath. "I am Loki. Listen to me! _I am Loki_. I am strong. And I beat Thanos, because I did not break."

The walls listened to his speech in stony silence. But when he had finished speaking, he could almost hear distant laughter, echoing off the ruined walls of the throne room, echoing into the stars that studded the chasm of a sky.

()()()

"Is it time?" The Other asked, silkily, its fingers moving as if it was playing an invisible piano. "Has it been long enough?"

"You should not be so impatient," Thanos replied, lounging casually on his throne, examining a grape he was holding in his hand. "These things take time."

"Surely _you_ do not desire to wait any longer, either? He is already fragile. Master, it will work if we do it now. This is his punishment; we should not give him any more reprieve."

Thanos squished the grape, and it ran like blood down his wrist. "I know." He waved a hand dismissively. "Then tell them. I will be there soon."

Once The Other was gone, Thanos allowed himself to smile. It turned into a grin, and then into quiet, rumbling laughter that spilled from his lips. He flicked the grape's carcass away. Time to finally break his Jotun pet. Time to claim his reward.

()()()

They came for him at night. The sun had disappeared over the horizon, the sky was the deep blue of twilight. Loki was watching the colors rise and fall like bruises on skin when they came.

Thor did not bother knocking. He entered boisterously, with an unnaturally wide grin on his face. Why was he so happy?

Loki brushed the thought aside. He couldn't help himself, he smiled back. It was the last time he would smile for a long time. "Hello, Thor. What do you want?"

Frigga followed Thor. And Odin. Loki looked up sharply, to see Sif and the Warriors Three follow him, along with a few other warriors he vaguely recognized, and the healer from yesterday. He shifted to face them, warily. He knew it was irrational, but he couldn't keep from wanting to run. Why were they all here?

Thor's grin disappeared, his eyes narrowed. He climbed onto the bed beside Loki, and put his hands on his shoulders, running them down his arms, to his waist. Loki felt a sharp pang of panic, and he put his hands on Thor's, trying to remove them. "What are you doing?"

"How were these past two days?" Thor asked. "Did you have fun?"

Loki swallowed. "Stop touching me. What's going on?"

Thor did not reply. Instead, he tightened his grip on Loki's waist. Loki pushed against his chest, but Thor did not move - he was like a solid rock, with that frozen, possessive smile on his face.

The other people in the room did not react when Loki glanced at them, silently begging for help. He didn't know why he was so scared - it was only Thor, and Thor wouldn't try to hurt him, he was probably just trying to be comforting. But Loki was scared. He wanted nothing more than to run, but they were blocking the door.

_They were blocking the door._

Loki's heart thudded in his chest.

"Stop," he said, pushing Thor's hands away. But they returned, exploring every inch of him, his collarbone, his neck, his chest, and they drifted lower, searching. Alarms fired off in Loki's head, screaming, "_This is wrong this is wrong something's so wrong."_ Loki jerked away, standing. "Stop!" he cried, even as the books melted away before his eyes. The rose in the vase beside his bed wilted and turned to smoke. The sun went out.

No, no, no. He was having a nightmare. This wasn't real. He was just having a nightmare. Any second now he would wake up in his bed with light streaming in through his window. This wasn't real.

Claustrophobia threatened to suffocate him, when Thor left the bed and advanced slowly towards him, making him back up towards where the others were blocking the door. His heart drummed in his chest. He made a cut-off whimpering sound in his throat when Thor grabbed his wrist and pulled him close. This _couldn't_ be happening.

"Thor!" he protested, when Thor's greedy hands began once again to explore his body. Thor grinned like a devil. "Mother!" Loki cried, turning desperate eyes to Frigga.

She was smiling.

Loki's breathing sounded like he was choking - jagged, hiccuping things that darted out of his lungs. He tried again to push Thor away but Frigga stepped forward and pinned his arms behind his back. Loki gasped and writhed in her grip, kicking, but her hands were like iron.

Chitauri hands.

He drove his knee into her side. She recoiled in a jerky, heavy way, so unlike his mother, and her fist connected with the side of his head. "No!" he shouted. "You can't, you can't, you _can't_! Stop, let me go! Let me go!"

The room had turned to four dark walls. Familiar dark walls. The walls of his cell, the place he had been lying two days ago when Thor rescued him. He couldn't be back here.

A nightmare.

He was trapped in a nightmare.

He had to be. Otherwise, he… he couldn't go on.

So he ignored the pain that throbbed through his head, and he ignored the palpable pangs of panic that kept thrumming through his body, driving sharp spikes through his chest. He ignored the fact that he could _hear_ himself screaming, and feel the horrible warmth of Thor's hands, everywhere all at once, in so many places they shouldn't be.

This wasn't true. This wasn't true.

He won. He got away. He was safe and protected and he had a life to live, and he had finally gotten another chance to live it. A beautiful, precious chance, a chance he didn't deserve but he had it, he could feel it, taste it, he could hear it singing to him… This couldn't be true, this couldn't be, this couldn't be…

If it was true, then he was going to break.

But Thor kept grabbing him, kept touching him, kept grinning. Thor's hands clutched his shirt and lifted it off, he ran his hands over Loki's chest. Loki begged, he pleaded, pathetically whimpering, "Please, please _Thor_, Thor, why are you doing this? Stop. Stop. Please, stop."

But Thor didn't.

His right hand wrapped around Loki's wrists. Loki glanced desperately back at Frigga, who had stepped away. "Mother," he said. "Father… Sif, anyone, _please_, what's going on? I don't understand, I…"

"I think you do understand," Thor murmured, running his fingers gently along Loki's jawline, turning his head. "Oh, whatever happened to your brilliant mind? You should have figured this out ages ago. Perhaps you were always a stupid little runt."

Loki could not struggle. He was frozen in front of Thor - not Thor, but it looked like him, and that was so much worse - and tears rose up in his throat, burning behind his eyes.

"No," Loki whispered. "I can't… I can't. I can't."

"Oh, yes you can, Laufeyson," Thor - or whatever it was - murmured. Its groping hand moved downward - too close, _too close_ \- and Loki's breath hitched, he backed away but it followed him, and his back hit the wall, claustrophobia threatening to overwhelm him, panic making him unable to breathe. The others all fanned out, watching with dark eyes. Unwillingly, Loki whimpered again, a small noise in the back of his throat, but its smile widened when it heard it.

"Please," Loki said, shaking his head. "Please. Please."

It trailed its fingers across his thigh. "Finally, you beg. See, Laufeyson? My plan has worked. I have broken you."

_Thanos._

Loki was too terrified to do anything but stare, but shake and try to breathe.

Thanos' hand - _Thor's hand_ \- drifted lower, and grabbed, grabbed onto something that it should never touch. Loki twisted in his grip, writhing as something sickeningly like _pleasure_ overcame him in hot, sticky waves and he couldn't… couldn't think, his mind wasn't working, he couldn't breathe, couldn't move, could do nothing as the thing with his brother's face grinned, clamped its hands down on his shoulders, and pushed him to his knees.

They hit the ground with a _thud_, the most horrible sound Loki had ever heard.

"Kurteisisorð, kurteisisorð," he said, pleading, as tears fell, burning their way down his cheeks. "Please, please, I can't, I can't do this, please…"

But no one listened.

No one cared.

And it was just a nightmare. Not real. Because if it was real, he would fall apart.

Just a nightmare, he told himself, as it pulled its cock out of its pants and he stared at it, stomach churning with dread, bile rising up his throat, about to throw up.

But he couldn't think. It didn't work to tell himself in his mind, he had to say it, he had to recite it, out loud, over and over until it became real.

"Just a nightmare," he whispered. "A nightmare. A nightmare. Martröð. Vinsamlegast vakna."

It grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled. Pain shot through his head and he was forced to look up at Thor's grinning face. "This is no nightmare, Laufeyson," it said. "This is what we promised you. A new kind of suffering." Its expression softened. "No need to cry," it said, reaching down to rub its finger against his cheek, wiping his tears away.

Loki flinched but did not have the strength to resist, did not have the strength to do anything but plead. "Kurteisisorð. Please."

It jerked up on his hair, forcing his head level again. "You'll get used to this eventually. It is a fitting place for you, on your knees before me. Open your mouth."

Loki shook his head. "I can't," he whispered. "I can't do it."

Its knee hit him in the jaw, and his head cracked against the wall. Loki whimpered against the explosion of pain in his head, and the whimper turned into a sob, as more tears burned and fell from his eyes.

"Learn your place, Frost Giant runt. Obey, like the dog you are. Do as you are told."

Loki closed his eyes, swallowed his tears. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He was numb, and he was burning. Dread settled heavily in his stomach. He was spinning and he was going to throw up.

He fought for his anger, for his words, his thoughts. The secret places in his mind. He fought for it, and he lost. There was nothing there, he was flailing through the dark. There was nothing left. He felt empty. _This couldn't be true._

And yet it was. And it hurt. It hurt so much.

He embraced the comforting darkness of the insides of his eyelids. And he imagined himself happy, as he had been earlier, lying in bed, hugging the pillow to his chest, safe and protected and happy and with a life to live.

Tears fell like flames.

He heaved a trembling breath.

And he did as he was told.

()()()

About halfway through, the thing in his mouth grew. He gagged on it. He gagged, and he barely had time to pull away before vomiting all over himself, all over the floor, and all over its cock and its thighs.

The hands in his hair were larger, now. They jerked his head up, and he found himself looking at Thanos. The illusion of Thor was gone.

He vomited again - his shoulders heaving, unable to turn his face away, so his vomit spilled down his chest. More tears fell from his eyes, hot and burning. He was dizzy, numb, spinning, he was crashing down. He couldn't stop crying.

He had heard of people hiding themselves away within their minds, able to conjure up some sort of secret place and lay there and wait for the horror to pass. And he tried, he tried to hard to run away to his room in the palace, to lay there and listen to the birds and smell the flowers and lose himself in the pages of a book. But instead of birds, he heard hoarse laughter. Instead of flowers, he smelled vomit. And instead of losing himself in a book, he was losing himself in the terrifying feeling of falling, of sinking, of knowing that he had lost.

He had lost.

He was going to break here, in the dark.

Thanos knelt, and faced him with those deep set eyes, full of false sorrow. "I am sorry, Laufeyson," he murmured, running his fingers along Loki's jawline while he sobbed. His hand moved to his shoulder, to his back, rubbing circles into his skin. "But you should have obeyed."

They emerged out of the darkness. They had shed their false skins, and were Chitauri once more. And they were coming for him. Panic turned him into a cowering mess - he scrambled away but there was nowhere to go.

"Shh," Thanos soothed, holding him in place with a firm hand on his shoulder, the other gently moving his hair out of his face. "Don't look at them. Don't worry."

Loki's trembling eased a bit at the gentle touch. He closed his eyes, drew his knees up to his chest, buried his face in his arms.

They beat him with fists and feet, punching and kicking him into the ground. He curled up on his side and sobbed until he had to scream, and screamed until he lost his voice. But through it all, Thanos continued to softly stroke his hair, his cheeks, his jaw, to murmur comforting words.

When it was over, he hauled Loki back up to his knees, and stood, towering over him again.

"You vomited on me," Thanos said. "Clean up your mess. I don't want to touch any part of your filth."

Loki cried. He couldn't stop crying. But he dragged his eyes once more to the cock that hung out of Thanos' pants, smeared with cum and blood and chunks of vomit.

He reached up.

"No," Thanos said. He kicked Loki in the stomach, and Loki whimpered, curling in on himself, crossing his arms tightly, squeezing his eyes shut. "I never said you could use your hands."

Loki swayed slightly, like a tree bending in the wind, about to fall. He didn't have enough energy to remain upright. But Thanos grabbed his jaw, prying his mouth open.

"And while you're at it, finish the job," he said.

Loki sobbed, once. Breathed.

In his mind, he was reading, he was turning pages and magic danced from his fingertips.

And then _it_ was in his mouth again and it tasted like acid and his dinner and salt and he wondered if they would kill him if he threw up again.

When it was over, Thanos picked him up gently, cradling him to his chest, and laid him carefully on the bed - for the bed had remained, although the rest of Loki's things were gone. He draped a thin blanket over his shoulders, and tucked a pillow beneath his head.

His footsteps receded. He was gone. They were gone.

Loki vomited again. Retching into the dark, hugging his stomach, sobbing. And when he was done vomiting, he moved slowly, painfully down from the bed, and into the corner, where he curled into himself and clutched his pillow, listening as his panicked breathing slowed. Comforted, slightly, by the two walls at his back.

But Loki could not sleep. He was too afraid that they would come back in the middle of the night to hurt him again, to catch him by surprise. And his mouth tasted of vomit. He was too disgusted by himself to do anything but lie there, trying to forget.

So he lay awake, staring into darkness.

He did not recite anything. He just lay there, shivering, sobbing silently into the pillow he was clutching to his chest.

This was what it must be like to be broken.

()()()

**Wow, what a truly needless, cruel, torturous plot twist that absolutely no one saw coming AM I RIGHT?**


	3. Chapter 3

_W__e've finally reached the events of the summary, so Tony's here to save the day! Yeayyyyy! So y'all can take those moldy chicken nuggets from last week and shove that shit down your gullet, because there's nothing bad in here aside from Loki's constant state of feverish panic, but that was present in the last chapter and was wayyy worse there so y'all should be fine. And at the very least, eat 'em for me, because I'm hungry lol, and I'm gonna go ahead and live vicariously through your hypothetical chicken nugget binge eating sessions._

_And my hint for this chapter's POV was that he swears like a sailor, and when I said that I didn't even realize that literally the first thing Tony does in this chapter is swear, which I found kinda funny. _

_Anyway._

_On to the angst!_

()()()

Tony swore when he saw who was calling.

"What do you want?" he asked, as he carefully tried to get out of bed without disturbing the sleep of the beautiful woman he had met last night (he thought her name was Jennifer? Jemima? Something with a 'J') which was easier said than done, considering that his right arm was trapped under her bare shoulder, and had gone completely numb.

"_Red alert, Stark. Get your ass over to HQ, and don't even think about skipping. This isn't History class."_

"I was good in History," Tony muttered, as he pulled on a pair of shorts. He walked to the mirror, messed with his hair a bit, eyed the bite mark on his neck with distaste. She had been a biter. Bit his neck several times, his shoulder, his jawline. Of course, he was a fan of a certain brand of feisty, but it got a little weird when she started biting his earlobe. What interested her so much about his ear?

Maybe it was just that he wasn't used to this kind of attention. Pepper had never been a biter, after all.

He scowled at his reflection.

"_I don't give a damn. Spare me your whining. Just be here in ten."_

"Ten?" Tony echoed incredulously, leaving the room, closing the door quietly behind him, and sticking the phone between his ear and his shoulder so he could put on a shirt.

Oh, wait. He forgot to bring a shirt.

"_Yes, ten. This is not a joke. You'll want to be there."_

"Will I," Tony said, sarcastically. "Hold that thought, chief." He went back into his bedroom, and grabbed a t-shirt out of a drawer. It was plain and black and boring. He set the phone down, put it on, and grabbed the phone again, before leaving for the second time.

"I'll have you know, that I just woke up. And I'm a gentleman. I'm not gonna leave this random girl in _my_ bed, to be all confused when she wakes up." He went into the bathroom, and rooted around in a drawer for bandaids.

"_Then slap a sticky note on her forehead. This is more important than your manners."_

"Just tell me what happened." He stuck the bandaid on his neck, and eyed it disapprovingly. It wasn't as if they wouldn't guess what it was covering. Eh. Whatever.

"_No. You know as well as I do that this line isn't necessarily secure."_

Tony smirked. "True. I do know that."

"_Then _get _over here."_

"Fine."

Fury hung up.

When Tony arrived at SHIELD, there was a small group of very dangerous people waiting for him in the parking lot. Fury, of course, but also Natasha, Clint, Bruce, Steve, and three SHIELD agents.

Natasha was standing in the front. After all, she was probably the most dangerous among them.

Tony lowered the window, and took off his sunglasses, rather dramatically. "Nine minutes," he said.

"Is that a hickey?" Natasha asked.

Tony waved his hand through the air dismissively. "Maybe. Maybe not. What's it to.."

"Can it, Stark," Fury muttered. "Just follow us inside."

()()()

"So, what's this, then?" Tony asked Bruce, as they followed the rest through SHIELD's convoluted maze of a headquarters, with two SHIELD agents tailing them.

Bruce adjusted his glasses, and cleared his throat. "I don't know," he said. "Fury wouldn't tell us. Something about safety issues, blah blah. BS. Whatever the real reason is, he's not telling. Whatever this _thing_ is, apparently we have to see it to believe it."

"Ah."

Weird.

Steve leaned in to interrupt their conversation, which Tony did not support. But his input was actually helpful, so he grudgingly decided to support it again. "Whatever it is, it's in the High Security Vault."

Oh, yeah. Tony probably should have noticed that, because of the huge fucking sign on the wall that read, 'High Security Vault.' But he didn't notice, so kudos to Steve for telling him, although it just brought up more questions.

Mostly, the same questions he had had earlier. Just multiplied ten times.

"Huh," Bruce said.

Relatable.

Fury punched in a passcode, pressed his thumbprint on a scanner, and leaned down to let a light shine on his eyeball. _Then_ he turned the circular handle.

"Jesus," Tony muttered.

As it turned out, the High-Security Vault was one room.

Just one.

They all filed in, and found themselves staring at a sheet of glass, inches from their faces. It looked like a really bad mirror, because Tony could faintly see his reflection. Beyond the glass was nothing but darkness. A one-way mirror?

Oh, and there was a bright green light on the right, about the size of an apple.

"Okay," Tony said. "Snazzy."

"This is a prison cell," Fury announced. "And there is a prisoner inside."

What a surprise.

Of course the thing Fury had to show them was a person. Of course. Because SHIELD was creepy like that. Always edging a bit too close to the shady side. The super shady side. About as shady as this fucking black nothing that Tony was staring at.

"Show us," Steve said.

Tony had been about to say something like that. He scowled. "Yeah," he added, uselessly.

Fury glanced at them. He raised his hand.

And the lights turned on.

At first, Tony's eyes were drawn to the bright green light, and to the hands that were wrapped around it. It was almost mesmerizing.

And then he heard everyone shouting.

"What the hell?"

"Why is _he_ here?"

And he looked up.

Oh.

What?

It was _Loki_.

Loki, sitting in the corner, glaring at them.

But that made no sense.

Hadn't he been locked up in Asgard two months ago? Why was he here, all of a sudden? And why was he guarding that green thing like it was his child? All hunched over it, gripping it tightly, tense. His chest rose and fell jerkily, and there was blood on his face, blood in his clothes.

But his eyes.

Feral.

Almost animal, with rage.

"Don't worry," Fury said. "Once we get the green power source and analyze it, we're going to kill him. As soon as we can. Probably tomorrow. Asgard didn't punish him properly, so now it's our turn. But that's why I called you. I need to know what that thing is, and I don't want any of my agents dead. I think you should be able to get it."

Translation: If I have to sacrifice someone, I'd rather sacrifice you instead. Cause I'm shady as fuck.

And distantly, Tony heard Bruce and Steve arguing about that, but he couldn't take his eyes off of Loki's face.

He had never been that angry, not even when he was attacking a city.

But the child analogy seemed pretty on point. It wasn't rage, it was a protective anger. A desperate, protective anger.

And why was he bloody?

Tony knew he should be more focused on hating the guy's guts - and he did hate them - but hey, he was a scientist/engineer/whatever the fuck, and he was more interested in the why, and the how. So many questions were popping up in his head.

"How'd you get him?" he asked.

Fury turned to speak to him, but Tony didn't look away from Loki to face him. He didn't actually give a fuck about manners, that whole "waiting until she wakes up" thing had been a lie so he didn't have to put normal-person clothes on.

"He was in Norway," Fury said. That made sense, because Loki was a Norse god, so of _course_ he would be in Norway. "At first he talked. Kept repeating the same word over and over: '_Lygari_'. But he hasn't talked for hours. And hasn't said anything other than that."

"Weird," Tony said.

"Very. And this green thing had… tendrils, like vines. Going into him. But when we got there, they all retreated. Made him bleed more, and breathe weird, when they did that. He's still breathing weird. And bleeding."

"Huh."

The others were all muttering amongst each other, about how much they wanted to murder the guy, but Tony kept asking Fury questions, although he looked annoyed about it. "How'd you transport him here?"

"Helicopter."

"And why didn't he blow you to smithereens? Doesn't he have magic?"

"No clue."

"So you want us to go in, get the Hulk egg, and then you're just gonna kill him? Not even gonna find out what happened to him?"

"Do you want him to kill more people?" Fury raised his voice, and Bruce glanced at him nervously. "Because that is what he will do. He escaped Asgard; I'm certain he can escape this cell, given enough time. It's a wonder he hasn't already, and I'm going to take advantage of that, while I still can."

It made sense.

But still.

Ah, well. Tony had been itching for something to do for days, something other than have sex, drink, and mope around. The green, glowing orb intrigued him. The fact that Loki was here intrigued him even more, although it also inspired a healthy amount of hatred. After all, the guy was shitty. He killed Coulson.

_But still._

It was interesting, wasn't it?

And while everyone else seemed more focused on being angry - ranting about the smug look on his face ("I'm gonna either Hulk out and snap his neck, or march in there as myself and snap his neck with my bare hands"), venting about Asgard's lack of organization ("Can't even keep track of their serial killers!") or busy sporting a brand-new blank stare (Clint had clammed up, and gone completely still), Tony instead said, "I'll go in."

"What?" Bruce asked. "Why?"

Tony shrugged. "I want to."

He didn't have to explain himself.

He wasn't sure that he could.

He glanced at Fury. Nodded. Fury had that what-the-hell-are-you-thinking look in his eyes, accompanied by an I-didn't-think-you'd-actually-be-stupid-enough-to-agree-to-do-this look, but it seemed that he wanted to take advantage of this, too, while he still could, because all he said was, "Get in the cell, then."

Well. That was straightforward.

Tony put his sunglasses on.

Bruce groaned. "You. You are _so_…"

"Hold that thought," Tony said, interrupting him. "Whatever you're gonna say, I've heard it before." He turned to Fury with a flourish, grinning. "I'm ready." Ready as I'll ever be.

Perhaps he hadn't woken up properly yet. Was that why he was agreeing to do this? He wasn't normally as self-destructive after he had had a few cups of coffee, after all.

Fury reached for the door before anyone could gather their thoughts quickly enough to protest. He tapped something on a screen on the wall with his other hand, and he bent down so it could scan his eye again. This time, it got his thumbprint, as well as his pointer-print, and middle-finger print. Fury swung the door open, and it opened silently. Well-oiled.

Tony nodded at him. And he stepped inside.

Fury closed the door behind him, which was unnerving. Reminded him of a shitty horror movie, where the protagonist enters the haunted mansion and suddenly the door slams shut behind them.

No time for stupid references.

Get your head in the game, Stark.

(If he did that, it would be a first.)

Nevertheless, Tony gave a valiant effort. He straightened, stuck one of his hands in his pocket - which was not just a pocket, of course. Instantly, a repulsor folded over his palm, and he was armed.

He relaxed. Which was weird, because he hadn't realized that he had been nervous. But now, it felt a million times easier to approach the guy who was sitting cross-legged in the corner, bent over that green thing like it was the most important object in the world.

Tony glanced behind him. All he could see was himself. As he had guessed, it was one-way glass. Winning.

Tony looked away from it and started walking towards Loki.. Loki's eyes had not left him once, and if Tony wasn't mistaken (which he never was), he was trying to draw away, like he wanted to become part of the wall.

Tony didn't like that.

It felt weird.

Add to that the fact that Loki was sitting in the corner, obviously trying to hide, as all scared people would. And that he was failing at hiding, which was only making him more terrified.

Yes, Loki was terrified.

It wasn't as if Tony was going to pretend that he couldn't see it.

Loki looked like he was fighting to calm down. Fighting, and losing. He kept sucking in deep breaths only for them to crumble into something like hyperventilation. He was pressing the green thing against his chest, pressing his back against the wall, pulling his knees up to form a barrier between them.

Tony approached slowly, and crouched in front of him, holding up his hand (the one without the repulsor), in the universal gesture for, "_Hey, there. I'm not gonna hurt you."_

Then he held it out, palm-up. "Give it to me."

Loki's eyes flashed. That was rage. Tony hadn't seen rage often, so it surprised him, it made him pause, it made him have to fight back an irrational urge to run away.

He had never seen that in Loki's eyes before, not even when he was fighting in New York.

But it wasn't like he knew the guy very well.

"Give it to me," he repeated, louder.

Loki's breathing picked up speed. His hands were shaking around the green, glowing thing.

Tony knew what this was. He knew exactly what was going on.

So he stood up, and he came closer, leaning down so that his head was almost right above Loki's, looking down at him. Appear threatening. Scare him. Make him think you're gonna hurt him.

And swallow down the bile that's rising up in your throat.

Tony clapped his hand down on Loki's shoulder, almost a slap, making him jerk. Flinch. Yeah, Tony was right.

Loki melted beneath his hand. Turned into something small, something wrong, something he should never be. "_Kurteisisorð_," he said. "_Þetta er mitt. _It's mine. It's _mine_."

So he speaks.

But it wasn't the voice that Tony remembered. Now, he sounded desperate. Almost like he was pleading.

Okay.

This was…

Tony stopped. Deciding to change tactics, he crouched down again, inches from Loki's face, staring at him. Searching him. And Loki stared back at him. Anyone who couldn't see, anyone who didn't _know_, would think he was just scared. And it seemed that way, by the way he was practically hyperventilating, shaking. By the way it sounded like he was _begging_.

Tony winced.

But, no. That wasn't all. Beneath the fear, he was furious. Each breath was sharp. He wasn't shaking with fear - at least, not only with fear. He was radiating adrenaline, radiating protectiveness over this green ball of kryptonite, radiating the urge to reach up and strangle Tony.

Nothing could be simple where Loki was involved, could it?

"Who hurt you?" Tony murmured, removing his hand from Loki's shoulder, using it to take off his sunglasses and tuck them in his pocket. "Whoever it was, I can't decide whether to gift them with a nice, shiny Lamborghini, or use said Lamborghini to run them over and leave them all flattened on the highway."

After all, this was Loki. And anything that made Loki less dangerous had to be a good thing, right?

Even just thinking it made him feel dirty. Because he knew it was wrong.

"What the hell am I supposed to do about this?" he asked, tracing the circle of the repulsor that lay on the back of his right hand.

Loki's eyes kept darting down to Tony's hands, to the green thing, and back up to Tony's face. Tony was so busy watching them that he didn't notice Loki open his mouth to speak. "Tell him..." Loki said. Then stopped.

Tony glanced at him sharply. "What? Tell who? Tell what? _What_?"

Loki tried to shift away from him again, and hissed when his back rubbed against the wall. He put one hand on the ground to try to push himself back, and his hand left a smear of blood on the floor. Tony stared at it.

"Tell him what?" he asked, lowering his voice. He put his hand up again, "_I won't hurt you,"_ and awkwardly crouch-stepped back.

Loki's shoulders relaxed slightly when Tony moved away. He licked his lips, and Tony wondered whether they had offered him anything to drink.

Probably not.

They were going to kill him, after all.

They hadn't even cleaned up the blood.

Tony flexed the fingers of his right hand. He traced the repulsor again. He glanced behind him, at the mirror. Then back at Loki. And he wondered…

Well, he just wondered.

His mind, sorting through dozens of possible scenarios. Ways that the next several hours could play out. Which one of them was right.

Ever since Afghanistan, he had been good at coming up with plans. Options. Ways out. Escape routes. Like a reflex.

Maybe Loki felt that, too. Probably.

"Tell him," Loki said. "If you know him, then tell him, that if this is not…_er ekki lygi - _not a lie, then I will… _mun rista_, slash the skin from his bones…" his voice was thin, but held a captivating intensity, and Tony was glad that he wasn't the 'him' Loki was referring to. "And he will beg, _fyrirmiskunn_, for relief, for something as sweet as pain. And I…" he laughed, darkly, and Tony swallowed at the lack of humor in his eyes. "I will dangle it in front of his eyes, _eins og rautt kjöt_," he spat the last word like it was blood, "And let it turn to ash in my hand." He slammed one fist down against the floor, and Tony tensed. Loki slid his hand across the ground, leaving a trail of dirty red blood. "_Og þegar hann grætur, mun ég hlæja_."

"What does that mean?" Tony asked, quietly.

Loki's face tightened, twitched, in annoyance. In anger. He flattened his palm against the bloody mark, he pushed himself away from the wall, rising into a crouch. "That when he cries, I will laugh."

Tony searched his eyes. Looked back down at the blood, and at the frantic rise and fall of Loki's chest. He looked for a very long time.

"_Stark."_ Fury's voice crackled over a hidden loudspeaker. "_Get the green. We don't have time to waste."_

"Will do," Tony said, although the more time he spent here, the more certain he was that he was going to do nothing of the sort.

This was unexpected. This was something unprecedented, unannounced, this was a million possibilities, and that made it something that Tony couldn't leave to die. Add to that the fact that this was a living, breathing, obviously traumatized person…

No, no, he couldn't leave Loki to die.

(What a strange thought.)

God. _Torture_. This wasn't supposed to happen.

Why couldn't Tony have gone on hating Loki in peace? Just shove him to the back of his mind, and occasionally glue his face to the wall and throw darts at it? Why did _this_ have to happen?

Because now the guy who had tried to attack New York was gasping for air, like he was failing at treading water. He kept closing his eyes, kept taking these huge, heaving breaths. Now, the guy who had attacked New York was hurt, and terrified. Now, Tony had to help the guy who had attacked New York.

But Fury should have seen this coming. In fact, he should never have sent Tony in at all. Because if he thought that Tony was going to pretend he hadn't noticed, that he hadn't seen the signs, the little things that reminded him so eerily of himself, and just let Loki die… well, then he didn't know Tony at all.

Let him die. Let him die, without a trial, without a chance to explain himself. Without even giving him a glass of water, or food. Without even treating his wounds. They were going to let him die soaked in blood.

Ha!

As if Tony Stark would agree to that.

But this wouldn't be as easy as grabbing him and blasting through the wall. They could track him, and they had missiles and shit. It wouldn't be pretty.

Nope. He had to have a plan. And he did.

So, for the moment, this was gonna hurt.

"Give it to me," he said. Making it an order. Holding out his hand.

Wincing, when Loki flinched. The rage didn't disappear but he flinched anyway, like it was automatic, ingrained into him, to flinch when someone came close to touching him. And he drew away again, glaring, holding the green thing to his chest. "No," he spat. "No. _Aldrei. ég drep þig._"

The way he said it, with murder in his voice - Tony didn't have to ask for a translation.

But he reached out and grabbed Loki's hand anyway. He tried to jerk away but Tony didn't let him, and fear flooded into his eyes again, wild and wretched and oh-so-wrong. Tony had to fight through the sudden feeling of guilt, but it was hard to keep himself from letting go.

He tore the repulsor off his hand, now using both his hands to try to pry Loki's fingers apart. But Loki had the advantage, because he was protecting something and he was desperate, and Tony was just putting on a reluctant show for Fury.

"Goddammit," he said. "Just cooperate. It'll be so much easier. You have no idea."

But Loki had never been the type to cooperate.

Loki's knee came out of nowhere. It hit Tony in the stomach, and he made a sound like a balloon losing air, as he doubled over and lost his grip on Loki's hands. Instantly, Loki was on top of him, with his hands wrapped around his throat.

Ah, but he was used to this.

He may not be a biter, but he had participated in his fair share of similar kinks.

Not that there had ever been a chance of imminent death, before.

At least, he hoped not.

Anyway.

He swung his legs up and kicked Loki right in the stomach, pushing him up and away, throwing him against the wall.

And Loki did not scream, did not make a sound, nothing but a sharp intake of breath, and a brief flash of pain in his eyes.

Which meant that it probably hurt like a bitch.

Behind him, he heard footsteps. He hadn't even heard the door open. Well-oiled, and all that shit.

He whirled around. It was Nat. She shot him a glare, and stalked past him, crouching down and pinning Loki against the wall. He writhed in her grip, growled low in his throat, clawed at her arms. But this didn't seem to effect her, of course, because she was a fucking creepy-ass SHIELD assassin. In fact, all her attention was on Tony.

"Well, smart-ass. Why don't you _get_ it?" she said, with a smirk on her heavily-lipsticked face.

Tony fought the urge to groan. He grabbed Loki's hand, the one that was balled into a fist. It was hard to grab, because it was moving so fast, heading right for his face, and also because he had to reach awkwardly around Nat's arm to get it. But once he had his hand wrapped around Loki's fist, Loki turned desperate. He kept practically throwing himself against Natasha, trying to hit her, kick her, hurt anything within his reach. His teeth even clamped down on Natasha's wrist, and she hissed, slamming his head back against the wall.

Tony had to use both his hands, and a hell of a lot of effort, to pry Loki's hands open. The green thing fell to the ground, and Loki snarled when it did. "No!" he cried, and his voice was the most raw and desperate thing Tony had ever heard. "Give it back! Give it to me! _ég drep þig_! I will rip you apart!"

"Asshole," Natasha muttered.

But couldn't she see that this was just a mask? That the fear was the thing that was real, and that it was buried just slightly beneath the surface? That he was only shouting because he knew that if he stopped he would start to _beg_ again?

She shoved him against the wall, and his face contorted with pain, and...

"Stop," Tony said.

Maybe she realized what she was doing, because her eyes widened slightly, and she moved away from him like he was going to burn her. Or maybe she just didn't want to get her hands bloody. But, instantly, her face was neutral again. She stood. "You're right. We're just wasting time," she said. "Let's go;"

Loki's eyes followed her briefly, then snapped down to Tony.

Surprisingly, he didn't lunge after them, trying to attack. Instead, he seemed to crumble. The fear shone through, again. Fists clenching, shaking, in his lap. "I need it," he said. "I _need_ it. Give it back."

Tony hated seeing him like this.

_Why_? Wasn't it better to have a cowering, begging Loki, than a laughing, dangerous one?

Well? Wasn't it?

Tony couldn't answer the voice in his head.

He couldn't say anything to Loki to reassure him, because Natasha would hear, or it would be caught on one of the secret cameras that were probably littered throughout the place. He considered saying something cutting, just to ensure that they wouldn't suspect what he was planning, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Anyway, it wasn't like Fury would suspect him.

Don't worry, we've got him wrapped around our fingers. He may be a genius, but in the end, it's not like he can really think for himself, is it?

Tony Stark, not thinking for himself.

The idea was laughable.

Tony allowed Loki to search his eyes for a moment longer. _Breathe_, he wanted to say, because Loki wasn't doing a very good job at that.

Although, it wasn't like telling him to breathe was going to make it any easier.

"Give it back," Loki said. "You don't understand. I need it. Give it back." He heaved a deep breath. "...Please."

_I'll try_, he wanted to say. But he couldn't say that, and he wasn't sure if it was true.

So he said nothing, and stood and walked away instead, leaving Loki there to hyperventilate alone, staring at his empty hands.

()()()

_Don't worry, there'll be comfort eventually. If it makes you feel better, I'm actually writing fluff right now. And I'm trying REALLY hard not to turn it into a pile of angst. I'm not sure if I'll succeed. I've already failed several times. _

_Hahahah and if that doesn't inspire confidence in you, I don't know what will. _


	4. Chapter 4

_Did I say pain? This chapter has so much pain. For Loki, for Tony, for you… but not for me, because I'm a sadistic bitch and I enjoyed writing this very much. Mwahah. _

_Thanks to DocWordsmith for beta reading! :)_

()()()

After a long several minutes, Loki was finally able to calm himself down enough to begin to process what had happened.

Of course, by then, he was already in agony.

The hollowness had slowly returned, and he accidentally grunted when the pain arrived, a pain like he had been hit by Mjolnir. It had taken days of nurturing his magic before it was strong enough to provide some relief to the pain. It had taken mere moments to undue all the progress, mere moments to bring the pain back.

His back became slick with blood again. After all, his magic had never regained the strength to _heal_ him in that short time, just to make it so he wouldn't feel it. So now he was bleeding out again.

Loki found that he couldn't hold himself up. _Hungry._ He groaned, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

But the worst thing was that emptiness within himself, that yawning void. He reached into it, trying to find something, anything, but there was nothing.

He coughed violently, and each cough made him curl up tighter, arms wrap closer around his chest. Blood in his mouth. He spat it onto the floor. Again and again. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand (which was already bloody) and wiped his hand on his shirt. One by one, the bruises came to life again, dull with pain.

Blood ran from between his legs, red-hot. He whimpered, then bit his lip to silence it. He sank his teeth in deeper, trying to distract himself from the feeling, but he couldn't, it was too hot, too humiliating…

And he remembered to breathe. Breathe. Huge, shaky breaths, just try, just breathe, you just have to breathe, breathe, breathe.

That's it. That's everything. No pain beyond this.

But this was almost too much.

All because his magic was gone. Again. _Gone. Again._

He slammed his fist hard against the wall. He wanted to scream, scream to whatever gods or mortals or Chitauri or cruel weavers of fate might be watching. Wanted to scream, like he had so long ago, when he momentarily regained his voice, screaming, "_Fuck you!"_ at Thanos.

He spit out blood. It spattered on the floor.

What was the point? What was the fucking _point_ of this? Did Thanos truly think that Loki would fall for it again?

No.

When he finally got his magic back, when he cradled it in his hands and pressed his lips to its withered, dead surface, he had known that it wasn't real. When he ran from the cell and into the farthest reaches of Thanos' planet, when - after days of huddling in the dark - he was finally strong enough to teleport away, met by bright light and beautiful _cold_, he had known it wasn't real. When Stark came in and ripped his magic out of his hands, Loki knew that if he hadn't been too busy panicking, he would have started to laugh.

Thanos didn't know.

He thought he had to do it all over _again_, because he was foolish enough to think that there was some part, however deep down in the sickly recesses of Loki's mind, that hadn't broken yet.

He wondered how long Thanos would allow him to stay here, in the false comfort of solitude, of cold, of brightness. He wondered what it would take for Thanos to think that he had succeeded. He wondered when it would all turn to smoke.

He squeezed his eyes shut. The feeling of his shirt against his back - like fire. A line of blood, warm and wrong, ran down his leg, to his ankle. He opened his eyes to look at it, and immediately wished he hadn't. It was sickly, it was humiliating, it was disgusting, disgusting.

He let his head fall back against the wall, raised his eyes to the ceiling. Breathe, breathe, but all he could manage was to gasp.

"There is a little fish," he said, and he smiled, because he could remember Frigga murmuring this one to him, in some long forgotten garden, as he sat in her lap and giggled at the apples that grew overhead. _Baby, pay attention, I am telling you a story. _"And it lives in a cave of coral. It grows silently, at first, until it is big enough to eat.

"There are other fish there, too. It gobbles them up. And it thinks that this - food, and the coral cave - is all it will ever need.

"But it grows lonely, _elskan._ So one day, when it comes upon another fish, swimming through the coral, it does not eat. Instead, it swims along with that fish. They swim together for a long time, until the little fish grows hungry again. He eats his new friend.

"The little fish cries about this. He misses his friend. But he eats, and eats, and eats. And then he stops eating, he becomes friends with new fish. As many fish as he can find. But always, he grows hungry. Always he has to eat. Always, he ends up crying.

"Until he meets a final fish. His very best friend. And she gives him a piece of seaweed, and tells him, 'Eat.' He does. And they swim off together, forever."

Not the true ending, of course.

No, in the true ending, the little fish eats himself.

And it is a metaphor. Those old scholars always thought they were so clever, with their metaphors.

Loki let out a shuddering breath. He should not have thought of Frigga. He should not have remembered her voice, her warm arms, her soft touch.

Her smile. Her wide, wild smile. Her hand on his wrists, pinning him there, even as the skin of her fingers melted away to expose rough gray skin and the sharp angles of bones. Backing away, letting Thor come nearer, and smiling as he did.

Loki closed his eyes.

He buried his face in his knees.

And he stayed like that until the door opened.

()()()

Loki tried to support himself against the wall with his bloody hands, tried to use them to pull himself up, as Stark walked in. But the act of trying to stand made his back hit the wall, made that fire burst to life again, and he had to bite down a scream.

Stark's eyes fluttered shut, briefly, as he sucked in a quiet breath. When he opened them again, he said, "I have it."

What was this? What was going on?

Loki watched him warily.

Stark shook his head. Held out his palm. There was one of his circular weapons attached to it, pointed at Loki's face. Stark jerked his head towards the doorway. "Come with me."

Loki stumbled to his feet, although pain stabbed through his back. It was an order, after all. They always hurt him more when he disobeyed their orders. He wouldn't make that mistake now, he wouldn't _fall for it._

"Listen," Stark said. "If you try to attack me, I'll shoot you. If you try to run off, I'll shoot you. I don't want to shoot you. I want to get you the hell out of here. But you have to cooperate. Okay?"

Stark - the Chitauri - was letting him out of this cell? Well, that did make some kind of sense. What would be the fun in allowing Loki to get executed?

Loki nodded. "Yes." A thin line of blood trickled into his eye, and he blinked it away.

Stark's brow furrowed in confusion, and his eyes quickly scanned Loki's body. "What the hell happened to you?"

_You should know. You probably caused it._

Instead, he said nothing, and he looked away from Stark to hide his glare. And then he banished the glare completely, replacing it with blankness. He looked back at Stark, in time to see him shake his head. "Doesn't matter. Come on."

Loki followed, obediently - "_The dog, trotting at his master's heels… my pet." _\- but he was barely able to keep his attention on Stark, because all he could think of was the moment when Stark's flesh would melt away into gray, corded muscle, his face replaced by a blank mask, dead eyes.

Then Loki staggered.

He caught himself on the wall, but Stark seemed to take it upon himself to steady him, placing a supporting hand around his shoulders. And Loki should have let it rest there, because they didn't like it when he refused their touches, but he jerked away from it anyway, and immediately tensed, bracing himself.

Stark stepped away from him, opened the door, and stepped through, gesturing for Loki to follow.

Loki hesitated.

"Come on," Stark said, turning around. "I told you. I have your green rock. And I'm trying to save you from execution. If I was going to hurt you, this would _not _be the best way to do it."

But Loki barely heard the rest of what Stark said. Because he had his magic. And Loki wanted it. He wanted it, because perhaps if he had it, he wouldn't feel so strangely… empty.

And that was the trick, wasn't it? They were trying to make him think that they were going to give his magic back, but they wouldn't. They were just taunting him, giving him false hope.

Loki froze. He didn't know what to do.

Make a plan. Make a plan already, you _idiot. _You always work better when you have someone to order you around.

If it isn't real, then there's nothing you can do. Assume that it's a trick, but act as if it's isn't. Escape. Stay alive. Get your magic back. Then, if it is a lie, you won't be disappointed.

If it's real, then you will get your revenge.

Oh, revenge. It boiled within him, in his blood. And for once, he wasn't bothered by the heat.

So he followed Stark out of the cell.

Oh, poor, foolish mortal.

You _are_ making a big mistake, aren't you?

Ah, but once Loki had his magic back… he would kill Stark, of course - he would have to. Or, even better, he could use his magic to control him, to make him the perfect soldier to aid him in his fight against Thanos.

Not a fight.

It would be slaughter.

Loki's fingers flexed instinctively. Thanos's throat in his fist; flesh breaking, cords snapping, blood gushing. Thanos gargling as he tried to beg for mercy.

And Loki would smile as his seidr flew to his fingertips.

He would make Thanos scream.

And how does it feel, oh mighty Titan, to suffer at the hands of this weakling, this monster, your Jotun dog turned against you? How does it feel?

He let his fingers relax.

_Focus, fool._

But suspicion kept him on edge. Why would Stark help him? Why save Loki from execution?

Probably, he didn't think that execution would be a swift enough death for him. He was helping Loki escape SHIELD only to take him back to his tower and torture him.

It would be an improvement.

And Loki tried to pretend that it wasn't true. That the thought of torture was still enough to chill his blood (although he never would have admitted it back then). He tried to pretend that if Stark turned around and punched him in the face, there wouldn't be some sense of relief to accompany the pain, because at least that would make sense, would be familiar.

He hated waiting. Waiting for it to happen.

So he did all that he could. He watched Stark's every movement like a hawk, waiting to duck or dodge or lash out with an attack of his own, because despite the repulsor that was in Stark's hand, he was still much more vulnerable than Thanos had ever been.

"Quiet," Stark murmured. "I mean, the security system's down, but I'm sure they've caught wind of that by now. So, better to still be quiet."

He opened a door, and they stepped outside.

The sky. The night sky, glittering with thousands of scars. A different sky. And any sky was preferable to the yawning abyss of Thanos' planet. Any other sky made Loki's breath catch and made him want to wrap himself in his seidr, to step into the embrace of Yggdrasil, to disappear into the clouds and the open air.

He considered lunging at the man, trying to tackle him to the ground.

But that was stupid. He would never get his magic back then. Stark was his only link to it, his only chance in the entire Nine Realms.

Perhaps when Stark attacked him, Loki should just stay silent and bear it. Stark might not be so likely to give it to him if Loki hurt him.

Loki growled, low in his throat.

Coughed. Coughed violently - _weakling - _and there was blood in his mouth again, and he spit it out, but he could still taste it in the back of his throat. If there was any food in his stomach, he probably would have thrown up.

"Sorry," Stark said. "But we gotta go. Just walk."

Loki wondered if the man understood how difficult it was to walk with a beaten body, an empty stomach, and a withering _seidr_.

Nevertheless, he managed to avert his glare in time, glaring at the ground instead of the man, and managed to force himself to walk. It wasn't as if he hadn't done it before.

Stark was walking warily at his side, with the weapon still aimed at Loki's head. He kept glancing away to see where he was going, and back again. Loki's lips twitched. Didn't he know that in the moment he was looking away, Loki could have overpowered him in twenty different ways? He could twist his arm behind his back, or kick him in the stomach, or shove the repulsor down his throat, or break his wrist, his arm, his neck…

_You are lucky indeed, Stark, that what you have is so precious._

"In here," Stark said. "Quick."

They were in the corner of SHIELD's parking lot. Overhead, a street lamp flickered, moths swarming around it. Loki stepped in a puddle, and grimaced, when he looked down and saw his face. He had already seen himself in the one-way glass, of course, but it was still horrible. He was still hideous.

Stark jerked his thumb towards the car that was parked beneath the street light. He opened the passenger door, and Loki quirked an eyebrow at that. How gentlemanly. How out-of-place. How idiotic.

And he, who had thrown Stark out of a window only three months prior, who had led the Chitauri in a spectacular failure of an invasion on New York, and was now dripping blood for his failure, nodded once, and slid into Stark's passenger seat, staining it red.

"Let's get out of here," Stark said. The tires squealed as he sped out of the parking lot.

()()()

"They're tailing us," Stark said. "Fuck my life. Okay, hold on tight, Reindeer Games."

He jerked on the wheel, and the car turned sharply, squealing in pain. Stark swore as they narrowly missed a collision, and in the mirror, the headlights of the car behind them faded briefly, then turned, and were following them once more. Rain lashed at the windshield. Lights glowed from all sides, leaving bright marks on the insides of Loki's eyelids.

He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. His hand tightened around the door handle.

He opened his eyes when he heard the window opening. Stark stuck his arm out and threw up his middle finger. Loki doubted that the car behind them would notice in the dark, or care if they saw.

"Repulsor," he said.

Stark glanced at him sharply. "I'm not gonna kill them. You haven't gotten any less murderous since our last encounter, have you?"

Loki flexed his fingers, clenched them into a fist. _I suppose not_. _And you have not obtained the ability to listen to your own words, have you?_

"But I doubt they have the same worries," Loki said.

Sure enough, a gunshot sounded, and the bullet twanged off the side of the car.

"Bulletproof," Stark said. Nevertheless, he grabbed the repulsor from where he had set it next to his foot, and stuck it out the window.

Then his phone rang.

"Fuck. Can you get that?" he asked.

_This was getting out of hand._

Loki picked it up, one eyebrow raised.

"Just put it on speaker."

He did.

"_Stark! Get your ass back to HQ! I don't know what the fuck you think you're…"_

"Furry!" Stark cried, leaning to the right to get his face as close to the phone as possible. "Be careful; Loki's here, so you don't wanna be spilling company secrets. And stop following us. We both know that I'm the superior driver."

"_What the hell are you doing?"_

"Do you want my honest answer?"

"_Yes, Stark."_

"I have no idea what I'm doing." Stark threw his head back and _cackled_, a manic glint in his eyes. Then, behind them, the street burst into an explosion of rubble and bright light. Stark's eyes narrowed into something darker. "But you are all assholes. And I _told_ you to stop following me."

Loki glanced out the back window. The car was spinning away in a shower of sparks. He could not tell if the people within were alive. He had a hunch that they were not.

Perhaps he had underestimated this mortal.

Pity that he was going to end up dead.

But he couldn't hold back the smile that was creeping onto his lips. _Chaos._ There was screaming and there was fire and there was death and chaos, chaos, it was wonderful. He wanted to throw his back and _laugh, laugh, laugh._

Maniacal laughter really was quite cathartic, after all.

Or did they think he was just _wasting_ his breath?

(Although, he would call it more of a dark chuckle. More dignified.)

"You know," he said, as Stark swerved into what he assumed was a kind of garage, within Stark Tower, because it looked vaguely familiar and there were other cars there. "Exploding your allies to save your enemy isn't normally considered proper etiquette among heroes." Perhaps he shouldn't have joked. But Thanos always hurt him whenever he joked, and he wondered if Stark would do the same.

"Damn them to hell," was how Stark replied.

Interesting.

Loki took several deep breaths to prepare himself to ask. "Why did you do this?" he asked, although the process of asking made his heart pound unnaturally, and he had to clench his fist again to calm it. "Why am I here?" _Is this an illusion? Are you real, or am I currently bleeding to death in the corner of my cell? _He doubted it, but it would have been nice to get some confirmation (Although the confirmation could be a lie). However, he didn't ask.

Thanos didn't like it when he asked questions. It was always, always worse whenever he asked questions.

Would it be the same here?

Stark snorted. "Why does everyone assume that I've got no human decency left?" he asked, as he opened the door and got out. "You know why I did this."

Even more interesting.

Although that certainly wasn't a satisfactory answer.

"Come on," Stark said. "We can't stay here. They're probably already outside. Pervs."

He walked backwards for a few steps, with the repulsor aimed at Loki's head, then must have realized how stupid he looked, because he began to walk at Loki's side again. It was a very uncomfortable walk, nonetheless. Loki did not enjoy having weapons aimed at his face. Especially not when they could actually kill him.

Stark had led them to an elevator. They got in, and it began to climb steadily, slowly, with a screen on the wall marking off each floor. Fifty of them.

_Where are you taking me?_

But he would find out in a moment.

Loki met the eyes of his reflection, standing in the brassy surface of the elevator doors. "I'm bleeding quite a bit," he said, surveying his body with distaste. He was favoring his left leg. He corrected that immediately.

Stark's eyes moved to Loki's reflection, as well. "Yup," he said.

Loki's hand moved to cover his chest, even though he was wearing a shirt. But then he grimaced, and let his hand fall to his side again.

"It's not very comfortable," he said.

"No, I can imagine it wouldn't be," Stark said. "Well, the plane ride shouldn't be long."

_A plane? Where are we going?_

Most likely to a more secluded place, where Stark could do as he wished to Loki without outside interference.

Loki clenched his fists.

The elevator stopped. Rather jerkily, but Loki didn't mention it.

"Not the roof," Stark said, when they were confronted by a hallway. "Just need to grab my Paranoia Purse. Come on."

Loki's first, inane urge was to sigh dramatically, but he quickly stifled it. Paranoia Purse?

Stark walked backwards, opening the door opposite them awkwardly, fumbling around a bit with the lock. He opened it, and they stepped into what could only be Stark's bedroom, because there were posters on the walls and clothes on the floor and a bed in the corner, with the sheets thrown around like someone had been _trying_ to make it disorganized.

It reminded Loki a bit of his own room.

"Paranoia Purse, Jarvis," Stark said. Something beeped, and folded out of the wall. He picked it up. It was a briefcase.

There was a note taped to the pillow of the bed. Stark glanced at it, then grabbed it and shoved it into his pocket. He glanced around the room, briefly, then back to Loki. He nodded, and they walked back into the elevator.

When they next stepped out, they were on the roof of Stark Tower.

There was a sound like a breeze, blowing through the trees, as shadows came out of the dark, towards him, surrounding him. Making him suffocate.

Loki took a step back but they just kept coming, until he couldn't breathe, and they grabbed him, touched him, dragged him down until he drowned in their murky depths, head beneath the water - can't breathe, can't breathe - hands everywhere, knives and daggers cutting, slicing, he was being ripped apart, he…

He couldn't breathe, and…

Fire. Fire, the roof was on fire.

A hand clamped down on his arm, but he knew not to try to jerk away. He knew that it was easier if he just stayed still.

The hand began to pull on his arm, dragging him. He followed.

"_Obedient, little Jotun dog. Didn't take long to break you, did it? You get easier every day."_

They went up a staircase, and then there was something at his back. He didn't know… but then there was a noise, a roar.

"Ha! Didn't see this coming, didja, you bastards!" he heard a voice - familiar - shout. Instinctively, he drew away from it, drew into the corner. But it was too small, this place was too small, and there was nowhere to go to get away.

Everything lurched. Up, down, he felt sick, couldn't see. Breathe, breathe, _no,_ they were grabbing him, hands, red-hot, hot, hot, burning, hands, everywhere, everywhere.

_Remember._

_Just be still. You know that it is easier if you just stay still._

"Loki?"

Loki opened his eyes. Sky. Buildings. Lights. They were flying.

He should feel something. All he felt was sick.

Hide it. Hide it. Hide it.

"You okay?"

There are no hands. No one. No one is there. You are _fine_. Fine. You are fine. Remember? Idiot, why can't you ever remember anything?

"I'm fine," he practically spat. In fact, a perfectly round drop of blood landed in front of him. He scowled at it.

"There were some SHIELD agents. I blew them up," Stark said. "In case you didn't notice. Who am I kidding, of course you noticed. And… now," he pressed a button on the ceiling, and everything lit up. "We," he grabbed something on the wall - seat belt - and fastened it. "Are in." He took a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on. "Business."

_Norns. Save me from this idiocy._

"You," Loki said. "Just broke me out of my cell, blew up your own allies to get me into this plane, and are now flying me somewhere else, just so I can be safe. And are now grinning about it like an idiot."

"Yup."

Loki allowed a grin to spread over his face, a grin to match Stark's. (He hadn't grinned in such a long time.) "I think I _like_ you." (He didn't, of course, and he shouldn't. But perhaps Stark would be more likely to give his magic back if he thought he did.)

"Most people do," Stark said.

The plane soared through the clouds, cutting a line straight to freedom.

Or to hell.

()()()

"Home sweet… secret shack in Canada. Where are we, Jarvis?" Stark asked, after he had cackled about their escape, showered his plane with praises, and stroked her wings almost sensually. "I honestly have no clue," he turned to Loki, shrugging apologetically. "I used autopilot."

They had landed on a sandbar. In the middle of the sea. There was nothing but water in all directions, and nothing but a small shack in the center of the sandbar, run-down, looking as if it was going to topple over. Loki lifted his foot and shook it with distaste, making sand rain down. He hated sand.

**This is your Minnesota shack, sir. **A disembodied voice said, from somewhere above them, within the plane.

"Oh. So I was way off. And why Minnesota? I hate Minnesota."

The voice didn't deign that question worth answering.

"If I wasn't currently so indebted to you for breaking me out of that hellhole," Loki remarked dryly. "I would say that this isn't much of an improvement."

Stark snorted again. "You could at least say thanks."

"I did."

He met Stark's eyes pointedly. And, despite the fact that he would rather die than have Stark remember Loki's pitiful state earlier - when he had been cowering in the corner of his cell - he knew that it was to his advantage when a tell-tale flash of pity filled Stark's eyes.

It was still hard to hide his grimace, though.

Pity. He didn't want pity. He was a prince.

_"Jotun dog. Begging at my feet. Pathetic!"_

Hands. Hands, hands coming out of the dark. Hands everywhere, hands inside him, filling him with their sickly warmth, their flesh and their meat and their bones.

Loki's jaw tightened.

"Sure you're okay?" Stark asked.

"So, the shack is here," he said. He completely ignored Stark's question and turned away, banishing all emotion from his face. He would have phrased it as a question - "Are we really staying in this pathetic little shack?" - but didn't.

"Yes," Stark said, glancing around awkwardly. "I think so. It's not actually _that_ shack. It's a safe house. And it might be underground. I don't really remember. Um..." he stepped forward, glancing back often to check on Loki, the repulsor never wavering in his hand. "Hello! I'm Tony fucking Stark."

Ahead of him, the sand began to fall. It caved inwards, and kept sinking, until it revealed a dark staircase, spiraling down, right in the middle of the sandbar.

"Password," Stark said, and winked. He followed it with, "Shit." He only had to take a few steps ahead to be standing at the edge of the pit. "Should have designed that better. I so could have fallen in."

And wouldn't that have been a shame, Loki thought, before remembering that yes, it would have been a shame, because Stark was currently the only person in the whole nine realms who knew where his magic was hidden.

Which meant that Loki couldn't let him die.

For a brief moment, Loki considered overpowering Stark - which would be easy - and forcing the answer out of him.

But he rejected that option.

Quickly.

It was the right option. The safest option. What else did he have? Somehow get Stark to trust him enough to give him back his seidr? Ha. As if that wouldn't go horribly wrong.

But the thought of torturing someone, even his enemy (an enemy other than Thanos, that is) who hadn't actually hurt him, _yet_, still made something twist uncomfortably in Loki's gut. And he knew that he could never bring himself to do it.

Weak.

But it was true. No way around it. He would just have to get Stark to give him his magic back. Willingly.

"Mmm. You go first," Stark said, gesturing towards the staircase.

Loki bowed his head. _How gallant of you to offer. _He strode forward, and glanced over the edge.

An abyss.

A chasm, in the sky.

He inhaled sharply, flexed his fingers, looked away. But he ripped himself out of the panic that was rising up in his chest, and brutally forced himself to walk forward, without limping, head held high, and step down into that void.

Behind him, there was a whrr, and a dim, flickering light shone onto the steps from the repulsor in Stark's hand, hardly illuminating them at all. Loki glanced back at him. Stark's face was in shadow, but he heard him stumble over his words as he said, "I just meant, um, that it would be easier because I wouldn't have to walk backwards, but if you want me to walk ahead of you then we can switch..." he trailed off, awkwardly.

Loki looked away quickly, breathing sharply until he was certain that his face was blank again. How had Stark known? Surely it couldn't have been that obvious.

"No," he said. "I know how to descend a staircase, Stark."

Stark's voice was no less rushed when he next spoke. Obviously, he wasn't good at disguising his emotions. "But there should be an actual light here. I can't find it. Or it got blown up. Both occur very often to my possessions." He paused. "And you're limping."

How had Stark noticed that? Loki had been careful to hide his limp. Was Stark trying to gather a list of all his weaknesses?

Probably.

"I am fine," Loki said.

"No, you aren't. Stop. Fuck, Loki, stop walking!"

Loki stopped. Glared at the staircase, smothered his glare, and turned around to face Stark. "Stark," he said, trying to sound reasonable. "There is nothing you can do for me while we are in the middle of this staircase. If you have medical equipment, it is either below us or above us. But that doesn't matter, because I do not need your..." he bit back the word 'pathetic.' "Midgardian medicine. I will be fine. So there is no need to stop. In fact, it is only wasting time."

"But you're injured."

Loki knew that he shouldn't have whirled around, lost his temper, and snapped, "And why should you care? And why am I even here? Why did you free me, Stark? What do you _want_?" but he hadn't lost his temper in such a long time…

That the act of doing so made him remember the pain that always followed, made him swallow and tense and take a step back. He almost fell, forgetting that he was on the stairs, but he caught himself on the wall, streaking it with blood. He shouldn't have asked so many questions.

Stark, who was standing above him, let out an irritated breath, and sat down, elbows resting on his knees. "Fine. You wanna do this now? Fine. We'll stop."

Loki stood there, trying not to glare at him, and failing, while dripping blood on his spiral staircase/cave entrance.

"You wanna do this now?" Stark repeated, throwing up his hands. He _was_ glaring, but not at Loki, at the ceiling. "_Fine._ Look. I know that something shitty happened to you. I have some guesses as to what it was. And I wasn't about to let SHIELD just…" he had to visibly restrain himself from yelling, Loki could tell by the way his shoulders shook as he inhaled, the way his fingers twitched, the way he breathed out slowly, collecting his thoughts. Then he met Loki's eyes. "Execute you. They were gonna kill you."

"I know," Loki said.

Stark's eyes flashed. "And you were just sitting there? Not trying to fight back? That's not like you."

_You don't know me._

Loki laughed, softly. "I couldn't fight back."

Stark bounced his knee up and down. He ripped his sunglasses off and shoved them in his pocket, as if he had just realized that he was still wearing them. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his non-repulsor hand. "What was that green thing?"

"As if I'd tell you." _Stark doesn't know? How very _interesting.

"So it's something dangerous, then."

Loki narrowed his eyes. "Don't change the subject. What do you want from me? I know you wouldn't save me from execution just because you feel sorry for me." He said the word _sorry_ like it was curse. "I'm not an idiot."

He had to take a moment to steady his breathing. He wasn't sure why.

Stark moved the repulsor hand away. He examined it, and it cast its light onto his face, forming strange shadows under his eyes and hairline. "I told you. Human decency. I wasn't about to let you die without at least finding out the truth. And… I could tell. And no one else would have believed me. But I could tell."

"Tell what."

Stark turned his hand, drowning his face in shadows again, making that dim light shine onto Loki, instead. It was still bright enough that Loki could see Stark's raised eyebrow.

"_Tell what,"_ Loki hissed, taking a step up, so that he could look down on Stark.

Stark managed to look unimpressed for a few moments, then he looked away. "Loki," he said. There was something lying beneath his voice, something indecipherable. (Or, perhaps Loki just didn't want to admit what it was.) "I can tell that someone hurt you," he said.

Loki inhaled sharply, and it was so hard to force himself not to snarl, not to wrap his hands around Stark's throat, press him up against the wall, and squeeze.

He would save that for Thanos.

Instead, he managed to keep his face blank - he was getting good at that - and keep himself from denying it, although it hurt his pride. What did it matter if his pride got hurt? That was like beating a corpse. If his pride was capable of feeling pain, then it would surely have been murdered at the hands of Thanos.

Admitting it to his enemy was nothing. Getting his magic back was everything.

So he didn't deny it. If Stark felt pity for him, that could only work to his advantage.

Instead, he allowed the silence that fell between them to speak for itself.

Stark looked like he was about to say something idiotic, like _I'm sorry,_ so Loki interrupted him, turning and beginning to limp down the stairs. "I would prefer not to bleed all over your staircase any longer," he said.

"Yeah, of course," Stark replied, his voice soft. The light bobbed as he stood and started to follow Loki down. Loki wondered if the repulsor was still aimed at his head.

He wondered if his magic was nearby.

He wondered if Stark was lying, and he didn't even have it.

He wondered if any of this was real.

Too many questions. Just focus on the plan. If something changes, make a new one, like you always do. As soon as you can, come up with other plans to fall back on, so you don't have to improvise.

Easy.

He took another step, and realized that there was not another stair. He stumbled awkwardly, grabbing the wall to steady himself. Pain flared in his ankle, and for a moment he was unable to breathe.

Behind him, Stark laughed. "Did you just miss the stair?"

Loki caught his breath quickly, turned, and scowled at him. "Bad idea, Stark. I can think of fifty ways to kill you with just my bare hands." He hoped Stark wouldn't hear the strain in his voice. He hoped Stark wasn't a Chitauri.

He realized too late that Midgard's sense of humor might be different than Asgard's - or, indeed, his, which happened to be more murderous than most - but Stark grinned, and laughed harder. "Of course you can," he said. "Of-fucking-course you can. Why do I associate with these kinds of people?"

_Because you're an idiot._

"That is an issue you will have to work out for yourself," Loki said. "Now. I'm glad we had this little talk, but I would really like to stop bleeding as soon as possible."


	5. Chapter 5

Well I was wrong actually I think this chapter might have more pain than the last two. *rereads chapter* oh fuck. Yeah, this shit is messed up. So be warned - you can eat your chicken nuggets with this one, probably, but like… if you do that then it probably means you're evil.

I'm sorry I PROMISE there is some comfort soon lol. *checks next few chapters* um well maybe not SOON but like eventually. Sometime. Hopefully. I think.

If you don't believe me, check the tags. There's like three in there with the word 'comfort' in them. So that's three nice tags out of like sixty horrifying ones that would get me sent to a psychiatrist if anyone ever found out I was writing this, which is a pretty good number, all things considered.

Oh and THANKS for all your lovely comments - I would hug you but last time I said I was gonna do that I got a death threat so maybe a fist bump instead (it was a friendly death threat. I promise.)

And can I just say how much I fucking love writing this story? Like I'm literally about twenty chapters ahead of this and I haven't gotten writer's block once and haven't lost motivation because there's so much SHIT happening. And I'm sure you're all wondering if any frostiron has happened by then… well, I would tell you but I love to torment you.

(By the way, it's my birthday, hehe. Just thought I'd mention it. But I won't tell you how old I am - cause I'm mysterious.)

()()()

It took a lot of effort to pretend that he hadn't noticed.

Hadn't noticed Loki's reaction when the SHIELD agents came running at them on the roof. The way he drew away from Tony like he was scared Tony was going to hit him when they were in the cockpit of the plane. How out-of-control his breathing had gotten, several times, on the staircase.

The way he flinched and drew away from Tony, towards the edge of the uncomfortable bed in the dimly lit medical room they were in, arms wrapping instinctively around his chest, when Tony suggested that he take off his shirt. Blood had already stained the sheets.

"Fine, you can do it when you're ready," Tony said. "I get it. You're probably just tired, and need a second to catch your breath."

But Loki didn't calm down. Probably couldn't. He was breathing like a cornered mouse.

Tony pretended not to notice.

And Tony knew that this was probably some kind of trauma resurfacing (he didn't even want to consider what kind of repressed memories could be coming up), so when Loki started to stammer, trying to find excuses - "...but I wouldn't want you to have to see; that is, you don't have to be here when…" - he held up his hand, interrupting him.

"Actually, I just remembered that I should probably be securing this place. Gotta be sure that SHIELD doesn't find us. Don't worry; the AIs are very capable, and they can fix you up better than I ever could. Just ask Jarvis if you're confused about something. 'Kay?"

Loki nodded. He didn't look relieved, but Tony suspected that was because he was focusing on keeping his face blank. Just because he didn't _look_ relieved didn't mean that he wasn't.

Tony gave him a tight smile.

He opened his phone and texted Jarvis.

"Monitor him. If he leaves the room, or picks up a weapon, or starts doing an evil villain monologue or something, tell me to get in there ASAP."

He switched off his phone, and met Loki's eyes again. There wasn't anything to go on there, no hints as to what he was thinking - which could be a hint in itself, but was still unsettling.

"And Loki?" he added, even though Loki was already looking at him. "You're safe here. Got that? Safe. No one gets in unless I let them. And I won't hurt you, and I'm not going to let anyone else in, so no one else can hurt you, either."

The words had been supposed to be comforting.

Despite that, Loki sucked in a huge breath, standing from the bed and stepping jerkily backwards until his back hit the wall. And, like he had earlier in the cell, he seemed to crumple, to become something scared and small, something that he should never be.

He slid down to the floor, and drew his knees up to his chest. He was shaking.

"Okay," Tony said, to himself. "Okay. Not good. Okay."

_What the hell did those monsters do to him?_

He crouched down, but didn't come any closer, holding his hands up. "I won't hurt you. I really won't."

That only seemed to make him worse.

Because now he started to speak.

"_Kurteisisorð_. Please. Please, I can't, I can't."

Begging.

Loki shouldn't beg.

Tony shuffled backwards, lowered his voice. "I really won't hurt you. I promise. I'm just trying to help you." He unstrapped the repulsor from his hand and set it on the ground.

"_Lygari_," Loki said. His voice was full of tears, even though none were falling. "_Lygari_. I knew you were. I knew you were."

Lygari. Hadn't Fury said something about that word?

Tony muttered a curse under his breath. The _one time_ that he really should have listened to something Fury said, he didn't.

"Lygari?" Tony repeated, although the word sounded wrong on his tongue, with his American accent. "What does that mean?"

Loki seemed to get worse when Tony asked the question. He licked his lips, breathing quickly, but when he spoke it was like he was trying to force out an answer. "It means 'powerful'," he said, the words coming out much too quickly, tripping over each other. Tony had to take a moment to replay the sentence in his mind before he understood what Loki had said.

"Okay," he said.

Weird.

"Why are you afraid of me?" he asked. "I told you I wouldn't hurt you."

Loki breathing sped up again, his eyes filling with fear, making Tony wince. Tony couldn't tell if he was secretly angry, or if he was just scared, or if he even knew that Tony was there. He couldn't tell, and he had no idea what to do, but maybe he would if he knew why Loki was scared of him.

But a few moments passed, and Loki only seemed to worsen, because he drew his knees closer to his chest, and once again seemed to be fighting for an answer, any answer. "Because it's like last time, and I know what you'll do, _lygari,_ _vegna þess að þú ert öflugur_…" he sucked in a frantic breath. "And I… I don't… can't… I don't know, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

His hands clawed at the walls as he tried to get away, despite there being nowhere to go. His eyes were big and wide and scared and Tony just wanted him to go back to how he had been earlier. He hated seeing him like this.

He didn't know why but he did. He hated it so much.

"No need to be sorry," Tony said. "_I'm_ sorry. Obviously I did something wrong. But I don't know what to do about it."

Loki didn't react to his words. Didn't stop panicking.

"Jarv?" Tony asked, desperately. "What should I do?"

His phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket, glad that Jarvis had decided to text back instead of speaking out loud, because it might have scared Loki more.

"You should leave the room, sir," it read. "I can monitor him for you. I think that Mr. Odinson is having a negative reaction to your presence."

But why? He had been just fine earlier. Well, as fine as he could be. He had even made jokes, and now he was just… gone.

But Tony knew that Jarvis was right. "I'm gonna leave now," he said. "Okay?"

No reaction.

He stood, and he suspected that Loki's eyes never left him as he turned and walked out the door.

He closed it behind him, and closed his eyes, letting out a relieved breath, followed by a series of fast, very unrelieved breaths. Holy fuck.

()()()

**Sir. It has been several minutes and he has calmed down slightly. However, if you reenter the room, he is likely to return to his previous state. It may be practical to produce and unconscious state in Mr. Odinson so he can receive proper medical attention.**

Tony was sitting on the couch, biting his nails, but when Jarvis spoke he glanced up sharply and stopped. "Drug him?"

**It may be advisable, sir.**

"No," Tony said. "I can't do that. He won't believe me if I tell him that I'm only gonna put him to sleep so that I can help him, and if he won't give me permission, then I won't do it."

**I doubt he would give you permission to remove his clothes and operate on him while awake either, sir. But you cannot let him remain untreated.**

Tony covered his face with his hands. Shit.

"I know, Jarvis. I…" he trailed off, thinking of the green thing, and of something else that Fury had said, but which he had ignored at the time.

"_And this green thing had… tendrils, like vines. Going into him. But when we got there, they all retreated. Made him bleed more, and breathe weird, when they did that."_

And when Tony had returned, mere hours after taking the green thing away, Loki had a broken ankle, and was bleeding even worse, all over the floor. Had it been healing him? Some kind of magic device?

And, even weirder, why wasn't his own magic healing him? Wasn't it supposed to do that? Why was Loki still injured at all?

But wondering wouldn't help. It wasn't like Tony could give Loki the green thing back. He had no idea what it was.

So that wasn't an option. And all the other options left to him were going to terrify Loki.

"What do you recommend, Jarv?" he asked. He really didn't want to have to decide.

**I would recommend giving Mr. Odinson an injection to induce anesthesia. Then, I can assist you in tending to his wounds.**

"I'm gonna feel like such a dick," Tony muttered.

Jarvis didn't reply to that.

He slapped his hands down on his knees, sucked in a breath, and jumped up from the couch. "Fine. Fine. You win." He clasped his hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling, sucking in another breath through his gritted teeth. "This is gonna suck."

**It is for the best, sir.**

"I know. Yeah, yeah, I know." Tony lowered his hands and clapped, once, loudly. "Let's do this thing."

()()()

Loki was in the corner when he returned. He had taken the pillow off of the bed and was holding it to his chest.

Tony had never seen anything quite like the terror in his eyes, or the sad sight of him clutching that pillow like it was a lifeline. He had to take a second to close his eyes, count to ten, collect himself. This wasn't gonna be pretty. But there was no way around it.

"Hey," he said, lowering into a crouch. Jarvis had provided him with the drug, and now he was hiding the needle behind his back. He held up his other hand, palm-out. "It's just me. You remember me, of course. You threw me out a window." He forced himself to laugh at that. If you had a twisted sense of humor, it really was funny how their roles had been reversed.

Not reversed, actually. More like turned inside out. And hit with a hammer several times.

Loki tightened his grip on the pillow. It was streaked with blood, and so were his hands, and the wall he was huddling against, and… Tony swallowed down a lump in his throat. He could cry later.

"I'm gonna come closer," he said. Loki inhaled sharply, but didn't try to discourage him. Tony wasn't sure if that was a good sign. Regardless, he started to crouch-walk towards Loki, which was actually really hard to do, and he kept almost falling and having to catch himself against the floor.

But when he finally reached Loki, it still felt too soon.

He paused, his hand hovering over Loki's arm.

"Please don't touch me," Loki whispered. "_Ekki snerta mig. _Please."

"Fuck," he said. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He reached out and grabbed Loki's arm.

And Loki went limp.

Tony stared at him. He hated this. He hated it. He wanted to _murder_ whoever had done this to him.

Loki had covered his face with his hands, so he didn't see as Tony-

Took a deep breath and sank the needle into Loki's arm, pressing down, watching as the liquid disappeared.

Loki whimpered.

And Tony hated it. Because he knew that the needle had to hurt, and Loki had probably already learned to associate touch with pain, and Tony was just making it worse…

He pulled the needle out, and crouched beside Loki until his eyelids fell shut. The pillow fell to the ground and he crumpled into Tony's arms. Tony let out a long breath, shaky breath, and wiped away his own tears with the back of his hand. He hadn't realized that he was crying.

()()()

One of his Minnesota Shack robots - Juggernaut (Jug for short) - helped him to set Loki down on the bed. Then it elevated his leg and started to examine his ankle - which must have been the cause of his limp. Medical jargon appeared on the computer screen at Loki's bedside, but Tony ignored it. He had no idea what any of that shit meant.

"Hey, Jug," he said. "What's wrong with his ankle?"

The robot, which was basically a metal arm with several very long, very precise fingers, turned to him and waved its fingers around like it was an octopus. Tony hadn't programmed it with a voice, so Jarvis translated. **His ankle is sprained, sir.**

"And he was walking?"

**Evidently.**

Tony wiped away sweat that had gathered on his forehead with the back of his wrist. "Okay. Jug? Can you put ice on it? Or… whatever you do?"

**Affirmative, sir.**

"Thanks," Tony said. He eyed the rest of Loki's body with growing dread. Whatever was hidden under his clothes, it would be a testament to what they (whoever "they" were) had done to him. To what had turned him, against his will, into that begging, whimpering, crying mess that had been huddling in the corner.

Tony grabbed a pair of scissors. He held them above Loki's neckline, and he swallowed. Then he started to cut away his shirt.

He stopped when he saw it.

Stopped and set the scissors down and covered his face with his hands, dangerously close to breaking down and crying.

Suddenly the smell of Loki's blood was too much. He stepped away, feeling worthless, and ran to the opposite wall, stomach churning. He caught himself on the sink and turned it on, splashing water at his face.

No. No. Not this, too. Anything but this.

But there it was. Burned into Loki's chest.

WHORE

Tony put his hand over his mouth, hardly able to breathe. He shut his eyes, but that image just kept coming back. The ruined, scarred skin. And he had stared at it for a moment before realizing what it was, before vomit rushed into his throat, before his head started to spin.

How could this be real?

And how could Loki have been having such a casual conversation earlier? Joking with him, as if everything was fine? As if Tony was still offering him that drink?

**Sir? Are you all right? You seem to be experiencing an anxiety attack.**

"No shit, Jarvis," Tony muttered, through his fingers. He needed some whisky, just some whisky, to make this all feel numb, but he had to help Loki. He had to. And he couldn't do that while drunk.

Dread. Dread settled in his chest again when he looked at the figure lying on the bed. His head had fallen to the side. No sign on his face, not even a sign of the _pain_ he had gone through… And he had been joking earlier. Joking. Laughing.

Surreal. That was what it was.

But if Loki had been able to pretend that nothing was wrong, to focus on what was happening and hide all his panic away - if even for a short while, because that short while must have taken a monumental effort - Tony would do the same.

He would process it later. Not now. Now, he had to get his ass over there and do something.

Tony walked back to the bed, and cut the shirt the rest of the way. It was hard to pull it away from Loki's body, because it was so bloody. Dried blood, lying beneath not quite dried blood. Tony tossed it in the trash. He cut away Loki's pants, too. He wasn't wearing any underwear.

The word on his chest was horrifying. So was all the blood. But once he had grabbed a cloth - several, actually - and washed all the blood away, as best he could, he was able to see the scars.

"Fuck," he said. "Um. Jug?"

Jug paused in the middle of applying Loki's cast. It started to run its fingers gently over Loki's body, probing and prodding at all his injuries with a feather-light touch. It turned him halfway onto his side, and examined his back. Tony was careful not to look. He knew that Loki's back had been bleeding badly, and he didn't really want to know.

**Sir. While none of Mr. Odinson's injuries are likely to put him in any peril, it would be advisable to bandage them in order to prevent any further blood loss. The area seeing the most severe loss of blood is Mr. Odinson's back.**

"Yeah," Tony said.

**I will turn Mr. Odinson onto his side so that you can have better access.**

Jug did. And Tony wrapped his arms around his chest, wishing he could be anywhere else. Wishing that this wasn't real.

"What is it?" he asked, weakly.

**The marks you are seeing on Mr. Odinson's back were likely caused by a whip, sir.**

"Fuck," Tony said.

Yeah, yeah he could have guessed. Those long, white scars, criss-crossing across Loki's pale skin, old and new, some still bleeding, but all ugly.

And Loki had been laughing, had been smiling, had been making jokes.

"Just tell me what to do," Tony said.

Jarvis did.

()()()

Loki's ankle was sprained. The word "WHORE" was burned into his chest. He had been beaten with a whip. It was clear that he had been raped. And his stomach, his arms, his legs, even his hands, were cut and bruised. There were countless old scars, hidden beneath the new.

But at least he wasn't bleeding anymore.

Tony laughed brokenly at that thought. Then it turned into a sob. Then he shut his mouth. And finally, because he had done all he could and it was honestly more productive to leave Jug to do the rest, he lifted a bottle of whisky to his lips and took a long drink. It burned on the way down. Thank god.

He hadn't left the room, because he would have felt too guilty, lounging on the couch while Loki was alone in the hospital room, looking like that. But he was sitting against the wall, with his Minnesota Shack laptop on his lap, hacking into anything and everything he could find in order to ensure that SHIELD wouldn't find them.

The security system in this place was top-notch. It was a complete secret, known to no one but him. Not even Happy or Pepper. But he wasn't about to sit there doing nothing, and besides, if SHIELD found Loki again, he would never forgive himself.

He set the bottle back down with a _clink_, and went back to typing.

An hour passed.

Jug announced that he was finished. Tony got up and covered Loki with a blanket, then he sat back down.

Another hour. Damn, whatever that drug was, it had been strong.

Then Loki's breathing changed.

Tony closed his laptop and stood up, already halfway to the bed when Loki's eyes opened.

()()()

(Hehehehe cliff hanger)

Okay so the beautifully fucked up idea of having the word "whore" literally burned into Loki's skin was inspired by the story Broken is the Puppet, Unbreakable is the Prince by gothraven89.

Aaand, leave a review? If you would like to?


	6. Chapter 6

I see myself as a random salesman on a street corner ringing a bell and yelling "COME AND GET UR ANGST! It's hot an' spicy an' real fucked up so COME AND GET" okay sorry. (But like can you imagine if that was real because I'm laughing right now that's kind of hilarious and would definitely be my career like okay I'm rambling lol)

**Enjoyyy the angst! (actually I think there's some fluff in here so it's not too angsty)**

()()()

Don't move. Don't speak. Don't scream. Don't panic.

Calm down.

Breathe. Breathe slowly.

Take note of your surroundings. Where are you? Is anyone else nearby? Do they look like they're going to hurt you? If they don't look like they're going to hurt you, could they be trying to trick you?

He was in a bed. In a white room. Staring at the ceiling. He looked to the left. Tony Stark was there, at his bedside, looking down at him.

Why was he there? Loki didn't know.

Was he real? Loki didn't know.

Was he going to hurt him? Maybe. Tense up. Brace yourself. But look. _Look. _Where can you go? How can you get away?

Loki glanced at the doorway. He flexed his fingers. He breathed slowly. He could make it to the door, perhaps, but not quick enough. Stark would catch him. And if Stark was a Chitauri, which he was, then that was not an option.

Although, if Stark was a Chitauri, then why didn't Loki hurt? Why wasn't he in his cell?

Why was he in a bed at all? He couldn't remember...

Think. Where was the last place you remember being? Retrace your steps. You know how. You always forget things. Places. People. Memories. Regain them. Remember them. Concentrate, idiot.

He was in a cell. Then he wasn't. Stark saved him. Not Stark; the Chitauri, although Loki was trying to pretend that it was real.

He was in a plane. Then he was on a staircase. Then he was here. Then Thor told him that he wouldn't hurt him - _lygari - _and the Chitauri started grabbing him. Touching him. Came out of the dark, fingers slicing at his skin. Fingers, everywhere, everywhere...

No.

Wrong.

Stupid. You're so stupid. You're always wrong.

Thor wasn't there, and there were no Chitauri. They weren't there. You panicked. Idiot. You always do this. Because you're too stupid to follow simple orders. Pathetic. Weak. Pet, creature, plaything, object, idiot. It was just Stark. You know it's true. It was only Stark.

Loki let out a deep breath.

And that meant that he had cowered, in front of Stark. Begged, in front of Stark. Cried, in front of Stark. Loki closed his eyes, shame eating him up from the inside out. A parasite, chewing on his organs, on his bones, slowly eating him alive. Laughing about it. Because even if, even though he knew Stark couldn't be real, he still didn't want the Chitauri seeing him so pathetic. Even when he was out of his cell, he was still so humiliatingly _pathetic._

And where had his plans gone? Crumbled into dust. Into dirt. Because when someone touched him, he panicked. He forgot. And how could he follow a plan when he kept forgetting everything?

"You okay?" Stark asked. Voice soft. Probably scared that if he raised his voice, Loki would start to panic again. He was probably right.

_Are you okay._ What a ridiculous question.

Of course he wasn't.

But of course he would pretend to be.

"You…" Loki tried. He coughed.

"I drugged you. Yeah. I kind of had to, because you needed medical attention and you were…" he trailed off, but Loki could fill in the blanks. _Panicking. Because you're so pathetic, and you don't do anything but panic._

Loki sat up.

And realized that all he was wearing was a blanket. Quickly, he grabbed it, but it didn't matter. Stark had seen. He knew. He knew what Loki was.

_Whore._

Shame burned his eyes.

Loki closed them, trying to breathe.

"I'm sorry," Stark said, softly, taking a careful step forward with both of his hands up. "Do you want me to leave? I don't know. Or if you need something else, just tell me. I can't know what you want unless you tell me."

Well, he was offering. But Loki couldn't bring himself to ask. To demand something. Nothing ever worked out when he asked for things. They just laughed at him.

But he was pretending that this was real. Remember? You're supposed to pretend that this is Stark and he is really offering.

Plan. Make a plan. Come on, it's easy, and it'll feel so much better once you have an order to follow.

What was your old plan? _Get your magic. _Put that one to the side for now. What do you need? You need to calm down so you can make a real plan. Well, you won't calm down until you have clothes on.

So ask.

Loki opened his eyes. Stark was standing over him, but he wasn't touching, which was good. He just looked concerned, which was annoying. Loki could feel the panic ebbing, feel himself coming back. It was a good feeling, except for the deep shame that accompanied it. Falling apart in front of his enemy. Humiliating.

But he didn't have any pride left, anyway.

So he pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders, covering his body as thoroughly as he possibly could, and tried to ask in the most nonchalant way possible: "Can I have some clothes? Preferably something not as garish as yours."

Stark looked surprised. Probably by Loki's ability to push down his panic and pretend that he was fine, was just joking, that he actually found the jokes funny and his sense of humor hadn't been brutally broken by Thanos, along with the rest of him.

"Of course," Stark said.

That was all he said.

Loki twisted the blanket in his fists. It rubbed strangely against his chest, almost as if there was something between the blanket and his skin. He looked down. The ugly, hideous, _true_ word burned into his skin was covered by a monstrous bandaid, about the size of his hand.

Stark's eyes had dropped down, as well, to Loki's chest. Loki glanced at him sharply. Why did he look so strangely sad?

And why hadn't he taken the chance, when Loki was drugged, to beat him or… to use him? Why did nothing hurt? That set Loki more on edge. He would know where he stood if something hurt. He would know what to expect.

"Oh!" Stark cried, taking a step back. "Yeah. Sorry. Clothes. Oh, and I'll have to get you some food." He turned to leave, then stopped and spun on his heel to face Loki again. "What kind of clothes?" he asked, smiling, showing the smallest hint of white teeth. "Green, probably. And what kind of food do you want?"

Loki was caught off guard by the barrage of questions. But they were easy, and he could answer them quickly enough to avoid the blow to the head or the shove on his shoulders that always came when he took too long to answer. "Green is fine," he said. "I'll eat anything." He didn't actually want to eat. When he thought of food, all he could think of was that blinding pain in his stomach.

"Got it," Stark said. He flashed Loki a grin, but all too soon it disappeared and was replaced by that expression of sadness again. Or pity.

And then he was gone.

()()()

"T-shirt," Stark said, taking the folded piece of clothing out of the laundry basket he had placed beside Loki's bed, and putting it onto the mattress. Loki moved his leg away so that Stark wouldn't end up touching him, even through the blanket. "Sweatshirt." It was green. "Pants." Black jeans, and sweatpants. "Underwear. Socks. Shoes. Good?" And it was, actually. Very good.

"Yes."

"Good. Ahmm..." Stark took a water bottle out of the laundry basket, and handed it to Loki. "Water," he said, unnecessarily. Loki wasn't so stupid that he didn't know what a water bottle was. "And I had Jarvis order Chinese. Don't worry; the delivery guy'll just leave it somewhere on the beach somewhere that way," he pointed at the far wall. "I think. And I'll go out in my boat and grab it. And I'll be wearing shades and a hat so it's fine, no one'll recognize me. Convoluted plan, I know, but worth it for takeout, doncha think?"

"Yes." Although he didn't want to eat.

"Good," Stark said, for the third time. Like he was trying to convince himself that something in this situation could be anything but horrible, and do anything but hurt.

But he plowed stubbornly onward, rambling about Chinese food - "You'll love the fried rice. It's my favorite thing on the menu, and it's got soy sauce and veggies and eggs and chicken and..." - even leaning his elbow on the bed, and resting his head against it. Loki shifted away, but Stark gave no sign that he noticed. And he didn't move his elbow.

Even after what he had seen? Even after he had discovered the word that was burned into Loki's chest? Even after he had witnessed his panic, his decline into a begging, sobbing mess?

Just another sign that he was a Chitauri. No human, especially not Stark, would want to be so close to Loki after what he had seen. It had to be a Chitauri - or even Thanos. After all, they had _never _shown any aversion to touching him.

But he would stick to the plan. And he would still pretend that this was real.

Or was it better to abandon all hope?

To be resigned to the fact that it was false?

He would break less if he abandoned his hopes. He would break less.

But no sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he had pushed it away. No. He may be pathetic and weak and worthless and stupid but he wasn't going to give up. He needed a purpose. He needed something to live for.

"I said thank you," Loki murmured, staring vacantly at the opposite wall. "But I don't think you understood how much I meant it. I don't actually want to die. Especially not at the hands of a fool like Fury."

Stark was silent for a few moments, taking in his words. His voice was quieter when he spoke. And he didn't look at Loki. "I didn't even think about it. I mean, I did. But it was one of the easiest decisions I've ever made. To get you the hell out of there, that is." Now he did turn his head to look at Loki. It was strange to be positioned above someone. "I told you before - I could tell that someone hurt you," he said it almost apologetically, as if sorry to be bringing this up again. "And I knew that no one else would have believed me. So I had to get you out."

The atmosphere felt tenser now. Heavy. Serious.

"What will you do if your friends come and try to kill me again?"

"Firstly, they won't. Secondly, even if they did, I wouldn't give you up. I need to know the whole story first. I need to be sure."

Then ask for the story. Foolish mortal, don't you know that all you have to do is ask?

But he didn't ask.

()()()

He picked at the Chinese food, but only ate about a mouthful of rice. It took a lot of willpower to even eat that much, and by the time he had, he was too on edge to eat any more. Stark also introduced him to fortune cookies. Stark cracked his open first, and read it aloud. "You will be rewarded for being a good listener. Accept the gift," he read. His smile disappeared briefly after he read it, but it reappeared soon after, as he handed the second cookie to Loki.

Loki's said, "Financial prosperity is coming your way."

Stark shrugged, and shoved another forkful of rice in his mouth.

Loki was left to wonder at the fact that he was having dinner with the man he had thrown out of a window, only two months ago.

"So do you like it?" Stark asked, once he had finished chewing. There was still food in his mouth, and Loki carefully avoided looking at it.

"_Já, það er gott_," Loki said, accidentally forgetting to switch to English.

Stark tensed up.

"Sorry," Loki said. "I just meant that yes, it was good."

Stark nodded, smiling again, but he didn't relax.

()()()

The robot cleared away their dishes.

"Seems like your intellect is simply used as fuel for your laziness," Loki said. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, with his legs dangling over the side and his hands clasped in his lap. He felt stiff. Probably because of all the bandages.

Stark, who was sitting on the floor with his laptop balanced precariously on his knees, snorted. He did that a lot. "You're not the first to tell me that. Although you used much bigger words."

Loki smiled, even though Stark wasn't looking at him so there was no reason to. His hair fell over his face, and he breathed in deeply, because it smelled like lavender soap. Stark had allowed him to take a shower, and Loki had been able to force down the panic at the thought of being naked in his house again. Stark hadn't been anywhere near the bathroom, and even his robots had been forbidden to enter. And the shower felt heavenly. So did the clothes. They weren't dirty. Or bloody. Or torn.

Stark went back to typing.

_What are you working on?_ Loki wanted to ask.

And, once he had imagined asking one question, others crowded around in his mind, demanding to be let out.

_When are you going to ask what happened to me?_

_What do you want from me?_

_And what are you going to do to get it?_

_Is this real?_

He didn't ask. Instead, he just kept hitting his heel against the side of the bed. Thump. Thump. Thump. Stark glanced up, and Loki stopped.

"Sorry," he said.

Stark's lips thinned. "'S fine," he said, looking back down at his laptop.

A few minutes later, he closed it abruptly, jumping up. The sudden loud noise and the movement made Loki flinch, but Stark did a good job of pretending not to notice. He rubbed his hands together, and then balled his fists and raised his arms to the ceiling, in a stretch. "Whisky," he said, holding out his hand. The robot, Jug, provided him with a glass of it. Stark took a drink.

"Do you ever drink water?" Loki asked.

Stark met his gaze flatly, unimpressed. "No," he said. "Water is for dull mortals. Us geniuses drink alcohol."

His words hung in the air for a moment, waiting impatiently.

Stark glanced down at the glass in his hand. Then, he held it out. "Want some? We never had that drink..." the ice clinked against the side, the amber liquid rising and falling..

Loki shifted, leaning back and using his hands to hold himself up. He cocked his head to the side. "I thought you'd never ask."

Stark had a strange look on his face. Something like confusion. As if he was trying to figure something out. But he walked to Loki's bedside anyway, and handed it to him.

Loki took it, bandaged fingers wrapping around the cold glass. He hesitated - but Stark had drank from it, so it couldn't be poisoned - and took a sip.

He didn't particularly enjoy the taste - it wasn't nearly as strong as the stuff on Asgard. But he smiled anyway. Grinned, almost. And Stark's lips twitched when Loki handed it back to him. "Good?" he asked.

"Very good," Loki said.

()()()

Stark didn't return to his laptop after that. Instead, he pulled up a chair and sat a few feet away, across from Loki. He just watched him for a few moments, and Loki shifted uncomfortably before forcing himself to stay still. He didn't like being watched.

Stark's mouth opened. Then closed.

Was he going to ask now? Finally?

And if he did, would Loki panic again? Would he start to beg, again?

He hoped not. But he couldn't be sure. He used to have such control over his emotions. He used to have so much.

Just… so much.

Briefly, he thought of Thor.

Then he stopped, because panic had spiked into his chest. The sound of knees hitting the ground echoed through his head.

So yes, if he was already panicking at the mere thought of Thor, he would definitely end up begging if Stark asked him to _describe_ it.

But Stark didn't.

"I won't ask," he said. "Because I know that you don't want to tell me yet. And I know what that feels like. Not wanting people to know. So I won't ask. But, eventually, I will need to know."

"I have questions, too," Loki said.

"Fire away. I'll answer them if I can."

But Loki couldn't. Couldn't ask. This day had already taken too much out of him.

"_Always whining. Always _asking _for things. As if you deserve it. Listen closely, pet. If I give you food, water, if I allow you to wear clothes, to sleep in a bed, it is a gift. It is nothing that you deserve."_

But Thanos hadn't even needed to tell him. Loki had figured it out long ago, that things were always worse whenever he asked. Whenever he spoke.

So he kept his mouth shut, and his eyes on the ground.

"Sorry," he said, because he knew he was supposed to apologize whenever he did anything wrong. "Nevermind. I'm sorry." He wrapped his arms around his chest, wondering if he had waited too long before apologizing. Would Stark hit him for that?

"Don't be," he said, with that strange look in his eyes again. "You did nothing wrong."

Loki couldn't decide between being angry at each blow his broken pride kept taking, or relieved that Stark wasn't going to hurt him.

So he just looked away.

He wished Stark would leave.

But he couldn't ask him to.

"I hacked into SHIELD," Stark said, sounding proud of himself. He kept bouncing his knee. "They won't find us."

"Thank you," Loki murmured.

_But why would you protect me, really?_

_What do you want?_

Stark continued. "And… I mean, we're safe here, so we can stay as long as we need to. Until everything calms down. If it does."

The need to know, to understand, was rising up in Loki's chest, similar to how it felt when he was panicking, except it wasn't as sharp.

But after what had happened earlier, everything felt dangerous, everything felt like it was going to come out of the shadows and grab him.

But he had to know.

How could he be safe if he didn't know why Stark was helping him in the first place?

Pity. That couldn't be all it was. That was never all it was.

Pity was always false. A pretense, to hide the true motives that lay beneath.

"And we should be fine here for the time being," Stark continued. "There's food here, but not much. I can keep going to the mainland to get food for a while, but I think we should leave after a week or so, just in case. I've got tons of places like these all over the country, so we can..."

"Why?" Loki burst out. Interrupting him.

He shouldn't have interrupted.

He shouldn't have asked. Shouldn't have asked. He...

Sucked in a breath, swallowed, and clawed at the sheets, backing away until his back hit the wall. Panic. Panic was a dagger in his chest, eating up all the air, all of his thoughts. Darkness. Shadows. And Stark was going to find him, grab him, touch him. All over, and he wouldn't stop. He would never stop...

"What do you mean?" Stark asked. "Why what? And hey, hey, Jarv, is he okay? Is he..."

Loki squeezed his eyes shut. Trying to calm down. Even though Stark had already witnessed him panicking, he still hated being seen like this. And he didn't want to start begging.

It took a few minutes, but he was able to fight off the worst of the panic. To come back to himself, and remember that Stark (for the time being) wasn't a Chitauri. In fact, Stark had saved him from SHIELD, had taken him here. He said it was because he knew that Loki had been tortured, but that couldn't be the whole truth.

And so Loki had asked why.

He focused on that. On the question. He used to love asking questions.

"Loki?" Stark asked, softly.

He watched Stark cautiously, taking in his posture, his movements. Stark raised his hand, but only to scratch his chin.

Loki wished he would leave.

Or speak.

Or just hit him. Just get it over with.

He hated waiting like this. Waiting for something to happen.

Eventually, Stark did speak. "What did you mean when you asked... what'd you mean 'why'?"

Loki had to fight the urge to sigh. Stark was truly an idiot. "Why I'm here," he said. "Why you are actually helping me. What you want in return."

That wasn't the entire list, though, was it?

"And why you won't just ask what happened to me," he said, his voice growing louder as his anger seeped through. He quickly forced it back down. "You want to know. You'll need to know, eventually. Just ask. Get it over with."

Because he was used to questions, used to the pain that followed when he gave the wrong answer. But he wasn't used to waiting. And he hated feeling so anxious.

Stark stared at him. His knees stopped bouncing. When he spoke, his voice was raspy. "Oh. Okay. Um… well. You're here because, well, I told you before. You're here because I…" he paused, seeming to look through Loki at something far away. "Did I ever tell you what happened to me in Afghanistan?"

Loki was taken aback by the sudden change of subject. "No. Let me guess: you got sunburned."

Stark actually laughed at that. He seemed relieved to be laughing. But it quickly disappeared. He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips, and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long breath. "Um… yeah, I did get sunburned, but that's not what I wanted to tell you." He looked up, directly meeting Loki's eyes. "Have you heard of terrorists?"

And that was how Stark ended up telling Loki about his time spent in Afghanistan, kidnapped by a terrorist group called the Ten Rings, tortured in an attempt to get him to build for them. He told Loki about the secret weapon that he built - the first Iron Man. He told Loki about Yinsen, the man who died.

Loki was surprised by his story. He hadn't expected that.

But he was more surprised by the fact that Stark would tell him this. His enemy. Didn't he know that Loki could use this as a weapon against him, if he so chose? Fill a bucket with water and shove Stark's head in?

Not that he would.

Just the thought of doing so made him want to take another shower. Just the thought of doing so made him feel dirty.

But still. Didn't Stark know who was sitting across from him?

"And when I saw you in there, I could tell. Could tell that something awful had happened to you," Stark continued, looking down at his clasped hands. "And I knew that no one else would see. And if they did, they wouldn't care. So I had to help you, because I would never forgive myself if I didn't and it turned out that… that you had needed help, and I just hadn't given a damn. Cause I'm not like that. Other people can just look away, and pretend like they don't see. I used to be one of those people, but... I'm not anymore."

Stark sucked in a breath.

"What were your other questions?" he asked.

Loki couldn't remember at first. Panic rose up automatically, but he fought it down. He had to remember. He _had_ to remember.

"You okay?" Stark asked. "Just… I'm sorry if I did something wrong."

"No. You didn't," Loki said, because it was true. Stark hadn't. And if his story was true, then Stark had truly done nothing wrong, and had instead done many things right.

Stark could be lying, of course. But that didn't make _sense._ If he wanted to get something from Loki, wanted to use him for something, why was he allowed to walk freely in this room? He had tried the door; it wasn't locked, but he hadn't been able to work up the courage to leave. And if he wanted Loki to be hurt, he could have hurt him when he was drugged to unconsciousness.

But there had to be, there _had_ to be something. Something else. Stark _had_ to be lying.

"Why won't you ask me what happened?" Loki asked.

Stark hesitated before answering. And his voice came out quiet, and slurred, as if he was drunk, the words melting together. "Didn't want to trigger anything. Y'know. Just in case. Thought it would be best to wait, to be sure."

Loki needed Stark to trust him. So he could get his magic back. And Stark wouldn't trust him until Loki answered his questions.

"You can ask," he said, Softly. With an out-of-place smile on his lips.

"Okay," Stark said. "What happened?"

Loki's fingers flexed, as that anger rose up in him again, and he embraced it, buried himself in it, because it felt familiar, it felt like being _him_ again. He imagined Thanos face contorting in agony. Stark's brow furrowed, so Loki forced his face back to blankness, from whatever it had been before.

And he remembered them taking him in the night, stealing him out of his cell, claws on his skin.

He wanted to take the pillow, and hug it to his chest. So instead he stood up abruptly, his hands clenching into fists, unclenching into stiff spiders, grabbing at his shirt and twisting the cloth. He let out a huff of a breath like an angry bull.

The urge to lie was like a tangible thing. He wanted so badly to pretend that Thanos had not been able to overpower him. That the pain hadn't affected him. That he wasn't broken.

But he couldn't.

So he started to pace. Like a wild animal, pacing in front of the bed. Stark's head swiveled as his eyes followed him, and then he gave up and looked back down at the floor.

"It was Thanos. And his Chitauri," Loki said. His voice came out hard, and stiff. "He was angry because of my failure. And he had promised me…" he broke into laughter, a laughter like shards of glass, cutting. "He promised me a new kind of suffering, if I failed. I failed anyway. You saw!" he cried, turning on Stark. "You were there, you witnessed my failure. And even while I was wasting away in my cell in Asgard, I knew he would come for me. Thanos loves only two things: death and revenge."

"Seems in-character," Stark said.

Loki's lips split in a smile, or perhaps a grimace, as he bared his teeth. "Very."

And the anger pulsed through his words like a heartbeat. Rage.

"You saw what he did to me. Or the results of what he did," Loki said. He continued to pace. "The Mad Titan is inventive, yes. But to use such crude methods of torture - he must have thought to humiliate me." He waved his hand through the air dismissively. "I suppose he succeeded. But it was his downfall. He was so focused on humiliating me that he left me alive."

Stark's eyes were on him again, following him closely. Solemnly. "It's not humiliating. You don't have to be ashamed because of what happened to you."

Loki brushed his words aside. He only acknowledged them by shooting Stark an irritated glance, before looking away again and continuing to pace.

"I tricked him," he said. "I tricked the Mad Titan." He wanted to laugh, but didn't. "It was the 'green thing', as you so elegantly put it. A device, not quite strong enough to heal me, but to return my body to a stronger state, although the wounds didn't disappear. He used to give it to me, briefly. Only so that I wouldn't pass out."

He didn't dare look at Stark's face.

"He would always take it away again."

Loki flexed his fingers.

"I need it, Stark. I don't think you understand. It can erase… it could remove this," he touched his finger tip lightly to his chest. They both knew what was hidden beneath his shirt. "And nothing else can. He burned it there with magic, Stark. You don't understand."

"Explain it to me, then," Stark said. Voice so soft.

Loki looked at him, but focused on his forehead, instead of his eyes. "The Titan's magic is different," he began. "Everyone's magic is different. But he has lived for millennia, so his magic is deeper, stronger, can seep into the most protected of places. Me." He pressed a hand to his chest. "And my magic is already gone. Taken. By Odin. He has it." Loki allowed his voice to tremble. "So the Titan's magic was able to pierce me. And nothing will heal that wound," he raised his arms. "Aside from the _tígrisdýr auga, _which…"

"What?"

Loki heaved an exasperated breath. "Tiger Eye. Healing stone, infused with magic. Weren't you supposed to be a genius?"

"Healing what?"

Loki ran a hand down the side of his face. "Not important. But consider it a shield, and Thanos' magic a sword. With the _tígrisdýr _gone, nothing is shielding me, and his magic is still cutting into me, even now. He may not have killed me then, but if this continues, I will die."

Stark jumped out of his chair, making Loki flinch, and turn to glare at him. "Are you saying you still need help? I thought I'd fixed up all your injuries, but is there something else?"

"It's not a physical wound," Loki snapped. "It is a magical one. You can't _see_ it."

Stark stared at him. "But what... but then... what are you saying?"

Loki stalked forward, towards him, and Stark took a step back. "That it really would be appreciated if you could return the stone to me, so that I don't drop dead in the middle of your living room."

Stark crossed his arms, drumming his fingers against his forearm. "You aren't in the living room." He lowered his voice, mumbling almost to himself. "And if you dropped dead then you _really_ wouldn't be in the living room." He coughed, and raised his voice to a normal level again "But point taken. And yeah, I agree. That would be the worst rescue attempt ever. So I'll see what I can do. How long do you think… I mean, how bad is it?"

Loki practically snarled, before whirling around and starting to pace again. "Probably the equivalent of a dagger to the chest." Even though it wasn't real, he hated that it felt like he was exposing a weakness to Stark.

"Oh. That bad?"

Loki raised his eyes to the ceiling. Perhaps he would find some competence there, and he could give it to Stark. "Yes. That bad."

"Huh. So how are you walking?"

"It doesn't… it's not… _Stark_!" Loki sputtered. And then he nearly laughed at how worked up he was getting over an injury that he didn't have. "It's not a physical injury," he spoke slowly as if he was a teacher trying to teach addition to a very slow child. "It won't affect my ability to walk."

"Then what does it affect?" Stark sounded genuinely curious.

And Loki was more than happy to teach him. He loved talking about magic.

"My _seidr_ \- my magic - is, for me, more fundamental than my bones. It structures me, but is also an extension of myself. It is, at once, my roots and my branches, and I am the trunk of the tree. If my magic is injured, it is like the roots and the branches are ripped away from the trunk," he jerked his fist through the air to demonstrate. "No injuries will show on the trunk, but it will die nonetheless."

"Ah."

Loki examined Stark closely, wondering if he actually understood or was just pretending to.

"Thus, the wound is much more grievous for me than it would be for, say, Thor, or for you. While every being has a certain amount of _seidr_ to structure them, not many can use it, and very few to the extent that I do. So a physical wound does not affect me as much as it would you, but a magical wound is much more deadly."

"Oh." Stark paused. "So when I thought that I'd actually helped you by cleaning up all the blood and putting on a few bandaids, you were still walking around with a stab wound that whole time?"

Loki cocked his head to the side. He flexed his fingers, remembering, again, that Stark had seen his naked body, and knew all of what had been done to him. "You could put it that way, if you wanted to feel unnecessary guilt."

"Wait. You took the stairs with a _stab wound_?"

Loki waved his hand dismissively. "Not physical, Stark."

"But it still hurts."

Loki huffed in annoyance. Or in anger. "Yes. Yes, it hurts. There. I hope you're satisfied."

It wasn't an entire lie. There may not have been any magical wound, thank the Norns, but his ankle still throbbed, and his back still felt like fire whenever he accidentally leaned against something, and his chest ached. It always ached. And he wondered if, even if Stark gave his magic back and he was eventually able to heal himself, it would ever stop aching.

"I'm not _satisfied,_" Stark snapped. "And can you at least sit down?"

Loki glanced at him sharply. "I'm fine."

"Sit," Stark said.

It was a order.

He sat down.

"That's better," Stark said. He was examining the floor very closely. A few silent seconds passed, which Loki spent clenching his hands into fists. When Stark spoke again, he sounded rigid. "I'll get it for you."

Their eyes met.

"Thank you," Loki said, and meant it.

He didn't understand this.

Loki was his enemy. He had thrown Stark out a window, and had killed people while attacking New York. Loki was pathetic, he was weak and worthless. He was a Frost Giant. He had been used, and beaten, and broken, and he couldn't go five minutes without panicking.

Even if he had had some deadly magical wound, why would Stark want to give him something that could fix it?  
Perhaps he didn't want Loki to die so soon. After all, he wouldn't get to have his _fun_ then.

But why hadn't he taken out his anger on Loki when Loki was unconscious?

Perhaps he wanted to hear his screams.

But when Stark gestured towards the doorway, he followed as he led him through the labyrinth that was the Minnesota Shack. And he memorized the turns, just in case.

They came to a room that was undoubtedly Stark's bedroom. While there were no posters, and not as many clothes on the floor this time, the bed was just as messy, and the few possessions that were in the room were strewn across the floor.

Stark cleared his throat. "Jarvis. Get the safe."

It folded out of the wall. A metal box, with a lock on it, and a screen beside the lock.

Stark glanced back at Loki. "Crude, I know. It's the best I've got." Stark pressed his thumb to the screen. Then a keyboard folded out of the box. "Would you mind looking away?" Stark asked, hands poised over the keyboard, ready to type.

Loki shook his head. He turned his back.

"Okay. Done."

He turned back around as the safe's door swung open. And the little, dying ball of green light that was his magic was lying there, filling the safe with its light.

He stepped forward like a man caught in the song of a siren, arms outstretched. He grabbed it, cradled it in his hands, held it to his chest. He was an empty void, and it was the air that was filling him, making him into _something_ instead of nothing.

It flickered dimly when he touched it, flickered somewhere within the empty void that he carried with him, flickered back to life. And it was weak, so weak. But he could already feel it growing again, whispering of newness and life and power. He closed his eyes.

"Good?" Stark asked.

"Good," Loki said.

He turned towards Stark.

Wondering why the Chitauri would ever give him his magic back. And he knew the answer - they wouldn't. They would never give it back.

None of this made sense.

Loki would have puzzled over his actions further, tried (and failed) to understand them, but his attention was caught by his magic again. It felt so right in his hands. He closed his eyes again, breathing it in.

Despite its rightness, it scared him.

After he escaped Thanos, he had been free for a week before SHIELD found him. And his magic had had a week to regrow. If it got that strong again, would SHIELD find him again?

Stark had said that he would keep Loki safe, but Loki didn't…

Or did he believe him?

He couldn't.

But a part of him did, regardless.

Stupid. You can't trust him. Didn't you learn anything from Thanos? You can't trust anyone. He never intended to give you your magic back. He still plans to hurt you, despite what he said.

And you know that he isn't even real. That eventually, he'll just turn to smoke, or his skin will melt away and it'll be just like _the last time._ You know it's true. You can forget anything, everything, but you can't forget that.

Loki would just have to be smart. (Even though he was too stupid to follow simple orders. But he would try. He used to be smart, after all.)

It wouldn't take long - only a day or two - for his magic to strengthen to the point that he could teleport. He would get away from here, and he would find a safe place to recover, where there was nowhere nearby to witness his panic at every little movement or loud noise. No one nearby who might decide to hurt him on a whim.

If Stark was a Chitauri, then so be it. If he wasn't, then Loki would be gone. Would be safe. Would be... would be free.

And if SHIELD came looking for him again, this time he would tear them apart.

He must have smiled at the thought, because Stark said, "You know, it's nice to see you smile like that. Like you mean it."

Loki glanced at him, utterly baffled as to why Stark would say such a thing.

He was starting to suspect that he would never understand.


	7. Chapter 7

_Oh god I love writing this so much. But I'm also so far ahead! I'm in chapter twenty-five now, probably because it's summer and writing is literally all I'm doing, so… yayyy? (omg I love writing this so much haha). _

_DocWordsmith is an amazing beta reader thanks so much!_

_Song would be State Lines by Novo Amor because it's soo pretty oh my god._

_Hehe enjoy the angst!_

()()()

Tony knew that the guy had done terrible things. And he knew, that just maybe, he didn't deserve any forgiveness for those things. Maybe didn't deserve any help.

And sure, Tony hadn't forgiven him yet.

But he wasn't about to stop helping.

And he didn't know why. It wasn't that he knew why he _was_ going to help, as much as he knew that he couldn't survive the bone-crushing guilt that would come if he stopped.

And his smile when he held the Tiger Eye to his chest had been worth it.

Because Tony couldn't shake the hunch that that had been the first real smile he had ever seen on Loki's lips. It went to his eyes. And, like a lightbulb had been turned on somewhere within him, it lit him up, it made him bright.

A more disturbing thought was that Loki had been walking around with the equivalent of a stab wound to the chest, and there had been absolutely no sign of the pain that had caused. Tony hadn't even noticed that anything was wrong.

It was clear that he was trying so hard to be strong, to act like everything was normal. To joke and laugh with his standard brand of wit. But too often Tony could see it leaking through - in the way he would subtly draw away from him, or flinch, or freeze up when Tony asked him a question. He was afraid of accidentally moving too fast, or speaking too loud, or doing something else that would send him into another panic attack.

A small one had just hit him, and Loki was visibly working to pull himself together. Tony looked away, humming casually, pretending not to notice. "Y'know, I was thinking that we could get you your own room. A proper room. You don't want to sleep in the hospital." He almost added "_right?"_ But thought better of it. It was clear that Loki didn't like answering or asking questions. He wondered what fucked up torture method those assholes had used to get him so scared of them.

He wanted to shoot them down. Like he had the Ten Rings. He wanted to hear them scream and beg for mercy, then shoot them anyway.

"That sounds good," Loki said, once he had calmed down. His voice wasn't thin, or shaky, or anything. Perfectly steady. And when he looked at Tony, one of his eyebrows was raised ever-so-slightly. "I would prefer to sleep in a bed that isn't bloody."

So they had both agreed that Loki was going to sleep here.

Live here.

Tony couldn't stop himself from smiling. And it irked him, because he had _no fucking idea why he was smiling._ But he did anyway.

"Wipe that idiotic grin off your face," Loki said, brushing past him as he walked back to the hospital room. He must have memorized the turns. Impressive. Tony had already gotten lost several times. The last time he had been here was when he was building the place, after all. He wasn't blessed with a map in his head where his brain should be, like Loki apparently was.

"Why are you going back in there?" Tony asked, when Loki stopped in front of the hospital door. "Don't you want a new room?"

Loki turned around. "Now?"

"Yeah."

"Oh," he was quiet for a moment. Then, "Yes, that would be good."

Tony smiled encouragingly. "Then follow me."

He took Loki to the only other bedroom in the Minnesota Shack: small, with a fluffy white carpet, a bed shoved in the corner, and a bathroom. There was a jacuzzi next to the shower.

Yeah, Tony had outdone himself.

But he was glad that he had. It was definitely paying off now.

But he couldn't suppress a pang of… sadness? - when he saw Loki standing in the doorway, his only possession the green stone he was clutching to his chest. He wouldn't be able to fill this room with his possessions - favorite books, worn-out clothes, posters on the walls. At the moment, he only owned himself and the stone.

So Tony said, "There are clothes in the drawers. You can keep them. Like, keep them, keep them. They're all yours. Forever. And if they don't fit, or you want something different, just tell me and I'll get it for you."

Loki blinked. And nodded, slowly.

He stepped inside.

"You're a billionaire, and yet you can't pay for a proper wall color?" he said.

Of course. Of course that would be the first thing he would say.

Tony moved to stand next to him. "What's wrong with beige?" he asked, crossing his arms. Immediately he winced because he had asked a question, and he kept _doing_ that accidentally - why couldn't he think before he spoke?

But Loki just sighed loudly as if Tony was the biggest idiot on earth. "It's drab," he said, gesturing towards the wall. "You designed this place. What does this color say about you? Nothing, except that you're _drab_."

"Point taken, wall-color police. But this is just a safe-house. You saw my actual bedroom."

"White," Loki said. "Which says that you are about as interesting as a blank sheet of paper." He smiled mischievously.

"Fine, then. What color is _your_ bedroom wall?" Tony regretted asking as soon as the words came out of his mouth. He didn't want to make Loki homesick or anything.

But Loki gave no sign that he was homesick. He seemed to be finding this useless banter just as enjoyable as Tony was. "If you must know," he said. "It is black."

"Of course," Tony said. "Of course it is. And that says… that you're emo."

They stared at each other.

"What does that mean?" Loki asked.

"Nothing."

Loki narrowed his eyes, then spun on his heel and stalked over to the bed. He placed his palm on it. "Acceptable." He crossed the room and stuck his head into the bathroom. "Yes, this will be tolerable for the time being."

"Pssh. You aren't very grateful, are you?"

Tony hadn't intended to speak too loudly, or sound too harsh, but he must have, because Loki's breath caught, and he pressed his back up against the doorframe, and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… to be… ungrateful. _Fyrirgefðu. _Sorry. "

Tony wanted to punch himself.

"It's okay," he said, putting his hands up, and walking back a step. "I was just joking. I'm not mad."

Loki stayed like that for what was probably only ten seconds, but felt like much longer. Then, slowly, he let out a breath, and stepped away from the doorframe. "_Auðvitað_," he said, pressing a hand to his cheek. "Of course. I know." He held the stone tightly to his chest again, still breathing too fast, but there were no other signs that anything was wrong. "I know. I just… I don't know why this keeps happening." His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, eyes actually widening slightly (Tony had thought that only happened in really unrealistic books) as his eyes snapped up to meet Tony's. He probably hadn't meant to admit that out loud.

Tony knew he should say something, or look away, or do anything other than stare at him. But what he had said struck a chord somewhere deep inside. A chord that he hadn't known existed, and it made some really weird music, which manifested itself in the sudden, and unexpected, watering of his eyes.

Shit.

He blinked it away, but Loki had probably noticed. He was good at noticing things like that.

But he glanced casually away from Tony, and his gaze didn't linger any longer than normal on his eyes. "Anyway," he said. "You probably have things to do. You can go. I'll be fine here. Settling in," he waved his hand towards the door.

What an unexpectedly _kind_ way of saying, "Get the fuck out."

Tony nodded. "Okay. Um, I'll get dinner for us. It's almost nine, actually. Cause we ate at four. But I saw a Taco Bell on the mainland. Have you had Mexican before?"

Loki looked at him, exasperation clear in his eyes. "Stark. We are space vikings. We don't have _Mexican food."_

And at that, Tony burst out laughing.

When he wiped the tears from his eyes (they weren't entirely caused by his laughter), Loki was smiling almost shyly at him. And it definitely wasn't on purpose, because that wasn't very Loki of him. But it was small and it was _shy_ and it was there. Tony grinned in response.

And, again, he was impressed by how this guy had gone from panicking - probably having a flashback to the brutal torture he had gone through - to _joking_ with him. It was fucking impressive.

"Okay. Um. See you," Tony said.

He left.

And it was a short jet boat ride to the mainland. A short walk to the Taco Bell. No one recognized him as the charming billionaire he was - it was almost comical, how easily people could be fooled by a hat and sunglasses - but even though he knew that there was no way SHIELD could have found them, he was on edge the whole time, and only felt at ease once he was back at the Minnesota Shack.

And if some of that relief was because he was able to walk to Loki's room, and peer in (only after knocking) to be sure that he was okay, then so what?

"Mexican," he said, holding up the greasy bag. "I got us the whole shebang." He began to place the tinfoil-wrapped delicacies on Loki's table. "Burritos: bean and seven layer. Chicken quesadillas. Cinnamon twists. And, of course, the crunchwrap supreme," he held it up. "The Holy Grail of the Taco Bell menu. Here," he handed it to Loki, who had gotten up when he entered.

Loki unwrapped it in the daintiest way that was physically possible, but still got grease on his fingers. He licked it off. Then took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Scrunched his face up in thought. "It's decent," he said.

"Decent?"

"Acceptable."

_"Acceptable?"_

"Better," Loki said, pausing to lick his fingers again. "Than freshly-caught, still-bleeding boar drenched in mead, with more mead on the side, to wash it down. But that's not saying much."

"This is the pinnacle of fake Mexican food." Tony unwrapped his own and took a monstrous bite. "It is, at once," he spoke awkwardly around the food in his mouth, "Spicy, yet retaining a depth of flavor. It contains the freshness of the lettuce, and the horrendous greasiness of the beef - all without the slightest hint of mead. You couldn't want anything more."

He handed Loki a burrito. "Here; try this," he said, going back to the bag and hunting around until he found another crunchwrap, wolfing it down and getting sauce all over his fingers.

Then Loki announced, "I'm full," and plopped his unfinished burrito into Tony's hands. He really hadn't eaten much, but who knows, maybe he just hadn't been very hungry. It was probably good that he didn't gorge himself - going from starving to feasting was never a good idea.

He had only nibbled off the corner of the burrito, and Tony didn't bother ripping that part away. He took a bite, devouring the remains of the corner, and a good chunk of the burrito. By the way Loki's face scrunched up, he must have thought it was gross. But it was just saliva. Basically water. And Tony had shared plenty of people's saliva before, so what was the big deal?

That reminded him of the note Janet… Janice… _whatever_-her-fucking name-was had left on his bed.

_"Ur an asshole. Don't call or txt me again."_

The one thing that Tony hated more than people who left notes instead of actually talking about their issues was people who used stupid abbreviations in those notes.

But it wasn't as if he was particularly concerned. He had never been looking to have a long-term relationship with her. She was more of a one-time hookup thing. Nothing more. He had tossed the note in the trash the first chance he got. He wasn't even sure why he had brought it.

Tony looked back down at his burrito. It was almost gone. He dangled the rest in front of Loki's face. "Sure you don't want some?"

And Loki started panicking again. Breathing fast, flattening himself against the back of the chair, looking at the burrito like it was going to eat him. Tony dropped it without even realizing he had let go.

Loki recovered faster this time, closing his eyes and slowing his breaths. Tony saw his lips moving, but no sound came out.

However, when he opened his eyes again and looked at Tony, their light mood had vanished.

"I'm sorry," Tony said. "I don't know what I did. It might be helpful if, if you told me, so I don't do it again. But you don't have to. I'm just saying." He wished he could take back the words, but at the same time he knew he was right. How could he avoid scaring Loki if he didn't know what he was doing that kept scaring him?

"I'll tell you," Loki said. But he didn't speak for a long moment. "Um." Deep breath. "They..." Deep breath.

"It's really okay. You don't have to tell me anything. You've already told me a lot, earlier, and it might be best to wait for a while."

Loki's gaze felt heavier, somehow. Not quite like he was examining him, but more like he was confirming something that he already knew. And he kept looking at Tony like that for a long time, until he glanced away, at the wall, and said, "They offered me food. It was poisoned."

And the more Tony thought about it, the more horrible it was.

And the way he said it. Casually, as if it didn't fucking matter. As if he was commenting on the color of Tony's wall again.

It was fucked up.

"But you ate this," Tony said, gesturing towards the crumpled up wrappers, the half-eaten tacos. "And didn't even have me take a bite first."

When he thought about it, Loki had waited for Tony to eat first, when they were having Chinese. But it could still have easily been poisoned then, too. Why hadn't Loki asked Tony to take a bite of his, to check?

Did Loki actually trust Tony enough to believe that it wouldn't be?

"That's true," Loki said, his eyes still on the wall. "I suppose I didn't."

Tony had so many questions.

But of course, he didn't ask any of them.

They sat in silence for much too long, to the point that it grew uncomfortable.

"I'm tired," Loki said.

"Of course. Yeah. Makes sense. It's late," Tony said, grateful for an excuse to shove all the trash into the paper bag and bolt.

But he paused in the doorway.

Loki had stood up from his chair, and was standing there with one arm crossed over his chest. His shirt was small height-wise, but too wide for him, so the neckline had slipped down and Tony could see the edge of the bandaid that was plastered to his chest, along with the winding tail-end of a white scar, snaking along his collarbone.

Loki had joked with him, laughed with him, eaten fucking _Taco Bell_ with him.

He shouldn't have so many scars.

"If there's anything you need, just tell Jarv to get me. Okay?" Tony said. He had never realized before how difficult it was to avoid ending a sentence with a question.

But Loki didn't panic (thank god), instead he did that shy smile again, and said, "Okay."

Tony smiled back. When he left, he left the door open a crack. The room was small, after all, and if he closed the door Loki might feel closed in, claustrophobic. And if he wanted it closed, then he could easily close it himself. Tony didn't want to ask him which he'd prefer.

He went to his own room. Brushed his teeth. Pulled on some sweatpants, because it was cold in Minnesota, and crawled into bed.

It was so...

Quiet.

But he was being an idiot. That was the fucking point. He was going to sleep, of course it should be quiet.

But he didn't sleep.

He kept thinking about Loki. About what they had done to him. About the word burned into his chest, and the whip marks on his back. Fury's voice: "Don't worry. We're gonna kill him." And the figure huddling in the corner of that SHIELD cell, cradling the Tiger Eye to his chest.

He had been so proud in New York. Not the kind of guy who would ever _huddle - _not that it was his fault.

But the things they had done to him…

Were so awful that they had _changed him_. Had crept into his mind and filled it with such fear, so much that not even his stubborn pride could cover it all up.

()()()

"Please," Loki said. "Please. Please. Don't. I'm sorry."

His face was streaked with tears. He was huddled in the corner, hugging a pillow to his chest. When Tony approached, he buried his face in it, shaking.

Tony's fist connected with his head anyway, making it snap to the side, and crack against the wall. Loki didn't make a sound.

()()()

Tony woke up sweating.

It was really gross.

"Ick," he said. "Mmmfghn."

He turned his face into the pillow, enjoying the darkness and the warmth for a moment before it became too hard to breathe.

And the dream came back to him.

His eyes shot open, and he said, "Shit," then covered his eyes with his hands, pressing down until patterns appeared, swirling around. "Shit shit shit." He hid his face in the pillow again. Grabbed the pillow, let his head fall back onto the mattress, and slammed the pillow down over his face.

"Jarvis?" he asked, as dread pooled in his chest again. He ripped the pillow away, and hurled it unnecessarily across the room. "Jar! Is Loki okay?"

**Mr. Odinson is awake in his room. His physical condition has not worsened.**

"Physical condition," Tony repeated. "But no panic attacks or anything?"

**Mr. Odinson has experienced no anxiety attacks during the night. However, I think you may like to know that he is not using the bed. He is lying in the corner of the room.**

Tony didn't like that. He might have expected it, but he didn't like it. Loki should get to sleep in a bed. He probably hadn't in a long, long time.

"Did he sleep at all last night?" Tony asked.

**For approximately four hours, sir.**

Four hours. They went to bed at around ten. And it was now... he checked the clock... seven.

So he had been huddled in the corner, probably semi-freaked out, for five hours.

Tony didn't like that either.

He wondered if Loki had had nightmares.

Probably.

Very likely worse ones than his.

So he groaned, and rolled out of bed. His foot got caught in the blanket, and he had to hop around awkwardly as he disentangled it. He tripped over a shoe on his way out the door.

Yawned, and ran a hand through his hair as he walked to Loki's room. But he felt strange - he must have forgotten what it was like to actually sleep for more than two hours at a time. Despite the nightmare, he felt refreshed.

Maybe Pepper had been right. Maybe this whole "sleep" thing wasn't so overrated.

He knocked on Loki's door. "Hey! It's morning."

No reply.

"Loki? Can I come in?"

Nothing.

Tony was getting nervous. So he opened the door a crack, peering in.

Loki was curled up in the corner, and he was holding his pillow again, tightly to his chest. The Tiger Eye was clenched tightly in his fist - Tony could tell because it glowed, even through his skin. He seemed to be fine… until he noticed Tony. Then his eyes were open wide, his breathing erratic.

"Hey," Tony said, crossing the room, and kneeling a few feet away. "What's… You can tell me what's wrong. That way, I can help you."

Loki shrank away from him, going rigid as if he was bracing himself… as if he thought Tony was going to _hit_ him. Tony forced himself not to grimace, because he didn't want to scare Loki by letting his anger show. Loki would assume that Tony was angry at him. But it was hard to control himself when Loki started to speak in another language, in that thin, shaking voice that Tony hated to hear.

"It would be easier if you used English. I don't speak that language."

Tony could tell that Loki was trying, hard, to calm down.

"Follow my breathing. Just breathe along with me." Tony breathed in and out, slowly. And, although Loki eyes were full of distrust, he obeyed, copying Tony's breathing until his own became steadier.

"Can you repeat what you said in English now?"

Loki nodded.

"I don't…" he tried, before breaking off.

"Take your time. I don't mind."

Loki took several deep breaths. "I don't know… I don't know why I'm here. Or where I am. Or why you're here. I can't… I can't remember. I'm sorry… I'm so _stupid_." He pulled the pillow closer. His face was full of fear, but the disgust was clear in his voice.

"Not true. _So_ not true." But it was probably more important to remind him of where he was, before reminding him of how smart he was. "And as for where you are, you're in my Minnesota Shack. I broke you out of SHIELD because Fury was going to execute you. Remember? And we had Chinese food, and Mexican, and you made fun of the color of my walls, and you told me about magic. Remember?"

"Why would… no, this isn't real. You wouldn't do that," Loki said, sitting up suddenly. "You're a Chitauri."

"What? No, of course I'm not a Chitauri. How could I be a…? Loki, what do you…" Tony struggled to find a way to phrase it that wasn't a question. Eventually, he gave up. "What do you mean, this isn't real? And how could I be a Chitauri?"

Loki answered hastily, stumbling over his words, but at least he didn't start to panic. Or, start to panic any more than he already was. "It's an illusion. Just like last time. When you pretended to be Thor."

_What?_

But now Loki's breathing was slowing. And when he next looked at Tony, his eyes held a spark of recognition.

Tony didn't ask any more questions. And it took a few moments, but eventually Loki said, "Stark." The relief was clear in his voice.

"Yup. The one and only."

"I'm sorry. I've always had a bad memory." Loki said, as he shoved the pillow away in disgust. His breathing was still a bit off, but other than that, he seemed to have recovered.

"Don't be sorry. But what you were saying earlier…"

"I had a nightmare," Loki said. He met Tony's eyes squarely. "I must have forgotten what was real for a moment."

"Oh. Okay."

They had cereal for breakfast. Loki wasn't in his best condition; he flinched when Tony accidentally hit his spoon against the side of his bowl, and when Tony reached across the table to grab the milk carton. And he didn't remember the food they had had for dinner last night, until Tony described it to him in detail.

But he did call the cereal, "Food fit only for peasants," which was a good sign. Although he only ate about a spoonful of it.

By ten o' clock, he was back to his usual (although still pretty messed up, all things considered) self.

Tony took him on a grand tour of the Shack, and Loki had a wonderful time using each wall color to relate to a different dull aspect of Tony's personality. He also thoroughly ridiculed every piece of furniture - "Why is this couch so huge? Oh, yes, you wouldn't fit in a smaller one, I suppose." "A rocking chair? Do you knit, now?" "This rug looks like it used to be a sick, overweight dragon."

"You have dragons in Asgard?"

To which Loki shot him a thoroughly exasperated glance. "Yes, Stark. We have giant fire-breathing _sky lizards_ in Asgard."

Tony laughed, and Loki cracked a smile when he did.

Loki continued to mock every possible aspect of the place - "What is the point of having an exercise room if you so clearly never use it?" - but Tony didn't appreciate the humor so much as he appreciated the fact that so many of Loki's jokes included questions.

"Do you want to go outside?" Tony asked, when they reached the staircase.

Loki studied it, his eyes following the spiral of the staircase upwards. "Yes. That sounds nice."

Tony offered him his arm, in case Loki couldn't take the stairs easily. Loki eyed it, but it wasn't with suspicion. It was something else entirely, something Tony couldn't place.

If Loki took his arm, this would be the first time they had touched since Tony had stuck the needle in his arm.

"I can manage," Loki said, quietly.

Tony nodded, and dropped his arm back down to his side.

And Loki could manage. He was already doing so much better than he had been yesterday. Towards the end, he even took a few of the stairs two at a time. It was clear that he was excited to be going outside.

"Jarv. Get the door," Tony said.

Above them, the sand caved in, and was caught in several slanted sheets of metal. It fell down into a storage container. When they wanted to close the hatch again, that container would swing up and dump the sand up over top of the door.

It wasn't practical at all. But it was very dramatic.

Loki ran up the rest of the steps. His feet sank deep into the sand, and he craned his neck to look at the sky. When Tony reached him, he saw that he was smiling.

Loki spun around, taking in the water that stretched seemingly forever into the horizon. They were in Lake Superior, and the air was frigid and the wind buffeted them, grabbing Loki's hair in its hands and pulling. The water lapped at the shore of the sandbar like a sensual tongue.

"Good?" Tony asked.

"Very good," Loki said, without looking away from the water. He walked to the shore and started ripping off his shoes and socks. Tony hadn't expected that - he had thought Loki would be too princely to allow his toes to touch common Midgardian sand. But apparently he wasn't.

He rolled up his pants and waded in up to his knees. Overhead, the light danced off the waves, cutting a trail straight to the sun. A seagull landed in the water in a bluster of feathers, and Loki flicked water at it. It flew away with an indignant screech.

"Hey! Respect the wildlife!" Tony cried. He was just teasing, of course, but he immediately braced himself for Loki's panicked response to his raised tone. His heart sank automatically.

But instead, Loki laughed. He laughed loudly and freely, with his eyes closed and something like happiness in his voice.

()()()

_Aww kind of a nice ending I think? For once? _

_Thanks for reading, um I love you all very much and have a lovely day! *Hugs you consensually*_


	8. Chapter 8

_This one borders on fluffy for a little bit, and then it all goes downhill. Oops? I hope you enjoy! (And may I say, thank you all for your comments so far!)_

()()()

"Where are you going?"

"To get new clothes. Did you think I was going to walk around smelling like dead fish all day?" Loki asked, taking another step towards the hallway.

They were in the kitchen, because Stark had said that he needed a drink. He had poured one for Loki, and they drank together even though it wasn't even twelve yet.

"Oh. Okay," Stark said.

Loki walked back to his room. And he took in, once again, the strangeness of having a bed, clothes, a shower and a toothbrush. Brushing his teeth had been even stranger than the five minutes he had spent in the bed, tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling before finally giving up and going to sleep in the corner.

He changed his clothes, and went to examine himself in the mirror. He had bags under his eyes. He was grateful to Stark for pretending not to notice. And his hair, despite the shower he had taken yesterday, was still limp and lifeless. He lifted up a strand and dropped it.

Then, in a moment of recklessness, he opened a drawer, took out a pair of scissors, and cut the strand off.

And when he was done, his hair was shorter than the shoulders, shorter even than it had been at Thor's coronation. He couldn't remember the last time his hair had been this short. It felt good. It felt new.

It was crooked, of course. It looked awful.

But it felt _wonderful_.

He grimaced as he grabbed all the hair and threw it into the garbage. Then he brushed his teeth again, just because he could.

When he returned to the kitchen, Stark set his glass down loudly, but Loki didn't flinch. Stark stared at him, and dropped his jaw open, probably on purpose. "Wow. That is…" he pointed a finger at Loki. "Wow. Did not expect that. S'good though. You look good."

That moment had the potential to become awkward, so Loki filled it with a, "Thank you," and spun in a circle so Stark could see the whole thing.

"It's a little… a little… y'know.," Stark said, slashed his hand diagonally through the air.

"Crooked?"

"Lil bit."

"Yes, I know."

"The prince of Asgard having anything but the latest style in posh royal haircuts? I'm shocked," Stark said, as he lifted the scotch to his lips, grinning behind the glass.

"I'm meant to be unpredictable," Loki said. "I do have a reputation to uphold."

They fell into silence after that, as Stark poured Loki more whisky and handed it to him. Loki used the moment to take his magic out of his pocket (yes, it was a ridiculous place to put such a powerful object, but he had gotten sick of carrying it around all the time, and it didn't have to be in direct contact with his skin in order to grow) and let its power seep into his skin. The only reason he hadn't let bleed completely into his body was that he didn't want to accidentally perform a spell in front of Stark, since it would take time to regain his normally perfect control over his _seidr._ But it should be strong enough to allow him to teleport away that night, and he could finally have the feeling of his power rushing through his skin again.

Tonight couldn't come quickly enough.

But for now, he leaned his elbows on the counter and spun his glass with his finger. Stark was leaning in the corner of the room, holding his glass precariously in one hand. It was tilted far to the right.

"Don't spill," Loki said.

"What?"

Loki pointed at his glass.

Unfortunately, when Stark turned his head to look at his glass, he ended up tilting it even farther to the right, and a few drops of whisky fell to the floor.

"Fuck," Stark said.

Loki took a sip from his own glass. "You are so clumsy, Stark."

Stark sighed dramatically. Instead of cleaning up the mess, he just rubbed his shoe over it, spreading it out until it wasn't so noticeable.

Loki was about to comment on that, when Stark gasped loudly, snapping his head up, his eyes meeting Loki's. Loki raised both eyebrows, widening his eyes. "What is it?"

"Have you ever played Uno?"

"Gods, where did that come from?"

"My brilliant mind."

They played Uno. It was… interesting. Loki kept asking what the winner got, and Stark said that they got the satisfaction of winning, which made no sense. But it was enjoyable, although he enjoyed watching Stark's facial reactions every time Loki played a card more than he enjoyed the actual game. And as long as he ignored the fact that he was most likely playing cards either with a Chitauri or a man who probably had a long list of deranged ways to abuse him tucked away in a drawer somewhere.

After that, Stark introduced him to video games. Then he forced Loki to sit through episodes of some of his favorite TV shows. They watched a movie called Harry Potter, and Loki had a wonderful time ridiculing the pitiful lack of understanding of magic.

"Then explain it to me," Stark said, pausing the movie halfway through. "Explain it. All of it. I want to know." His eyes were gleaming with curiosity. He was practically quivering with it.

Loki appreciated that. Regardless of whatever Stark was planning, he appreciated it.

"Magic is not a tool to be channeled through a wand or a magic word," he began, settling back against the couch cushions. "Some have compared it to a horse. It can be used as a tool, and yet has a mind of its own, and the ability to buck off its rider. But this analogy is incorrect." He licked his lips. "Because horses do not think, do not feel as people do. Magic does."

"What do you..."

Loki held up a finger. "Do not interrupt me." He paused, wondering how to explain this to a mortal who had never felt magic rushing beneath his skin before. It would be like trying to describe colors to a blind man.

"Temperature," he said. Stark raised an eyebrow. "Temperature. It is intangible - you cannot lift it, cannot twist it, pull it, wring it out. And yet you can feel it sitting on your skin. Feel it weighing down your body. Magic is like that, but it is not warm or cold. It is..." he licked his lips again, and flexed his fingers. "It is the rush. And the speed, and the sensation of air hurtling past your face even though you are standing still. And it is ever-present, flowing past everything else, like echolocation, almost. A better way of seeing. Feeling. Being." His voice rose as he became more excited, gesturing wildly. "It is an extension of myself. A part of me."

"It thinks and feels like you do?"

"When I am hurt, my magic hurts alongside me. When I am happy, my magic laughs with me. When I am at the peak of physical and mental ability, it can grow, leaping ever outwards, allowing me to reach farther than ever before. And when I am not, it withers, curling in on itself, as if it is sick." Loki smiled crookedly. "This is the disadvantage of being a skilled mage. Others, like Thor, do not suffer so deeply when their magic is injured in some way. For me, a magical wound is more deadly than a physical one. But I have told you this before."

"Yeah. It still weirds me out though."

"I pity you and your limited mortal understanding."

"You're the one who's never seen any decent movies before. I'd call that a pretty limited understanding."

"Mmm. Then go on and expand my knowledge of your ridiculous Midgardian pop culture," Loki said - more because Stark had been distracted from him by the movies and they were a good way to mindlessly pass the time until later that night, when Loki could escape.

"Will do."

They watched the second Harry Potter movie. And, while Stark asked more questions about magic and Loki answered them as thoroughly as possible, he never mentioned how when a powerful mage was dying of a magical - or physical - injury, his magic could leave his body entirely, turning into something that resembled a glowing rock. Taking the mage's injury away within itself as a last, desperate attempt to keep them alive.

It was rare. Very rare. And he had been surprised when it had happened, for it meant that yes, he had been about to die.

But the strangest thing was that it had happened before he fell into the hands of Thanos.

It had happened just after the failed invasion of New York.

And Odin had seen, had taken his seidr from him without asking. Without wondering why Loki had been dying, when he had been leading that army of Chitauri.

Not that it would have mattered if he had asked Loki.

Because Loki didn't know either.

He lost focus on the movie, and when Stark paused it halfway through and asked him if he was liking this one any better, he could only answer with a noncommittal grunt.

"Well, if you don't wanna watch a movie, what do you want to do?" Stark checked his watch. "It's... ah... ooh! Dinnertime."

"Do you do anything but eat?"

"Yes," Stark said. "I drink."

Loki didn't know whether to roll his eyes or laugh.

(He laughed.)

()()()

Stark brought them food from a place called, "McDonald's." He ate two full burgers, and Loki nibbled at a French fry, as they sat side-by-side with their feet in the water.

The sun freefell into the horizon. It disappeared over the other side, into that dark void. But its light remained, turning the clouds purple and the sky a brilliant explosion of red and orange and green.

Loki was aware that his magic had grown substantially during that day - probably because, this time, he wasn't lying on the dirt in a forest, bleeding all over with his back on fire and his chest feeling like a dagger was sticking out of it. No, this time, his injuries hardly even hurt, and he wasn't hungry, or even very tired.

If he had wanted to, he could have teleported away then and there.

But he didn't.

And he wasn't sure why. He had always been better off on his own. And he wasn't a fool - he knew that in the morning, he would forget again. Would panic again. And he didn't want anyone else to witness that. His humiliation. Stark had already seen enough.

And Stark was probably planning to hurt him. Or he was a Chitauri, or even Thanos, and was going to grab Loki's shoulders and force him to his knees.

Yes, he would be better off on his own.

But he stayed, as Stark pointed at the sunset, and recounted a time spent in Italy where the sky had turned a dazzling, yet frightening, blood red. He stayed, as a seagull landed on the beach and they both laughed.

He stayed, when a fish jumped out of the water and Stark grabbed his arm, to make sure that he saw. He stayed, even when he flinched accidentally, and jerked away, because Stark's fingers had turned to the talons of a Chitauri. Stark apologized and helped him to calm down and it was humiliating.

But he stayed anyway.

"I'm going to bed now," Stark said. "It's almost midnight. You coming?"

"I'll be just a second," Loki said.

"Okay."

It was remarkable that Stark trusted him enough to leave him outside by himself, even though his AI was surely watching him. Remarkable. And foolish.

Because as soon as Stark had gone, Loki stood up, took his seidr out of his pocket and sighed as its power seeped into his skin. He closed his eyes, about to step into that void between worlds.

And paused.

He bent down and wrote in the sand with his finger. _Thank you. _There could be no harm in it, after all.

Then he straightened. Took one last look at the water.

He stepped forward into darkness. And his magic caught him up in those shadows, wrapped around him like a blanket, and carried him away.

()()()

He couldn't go far. But he could reach the mainland, and when he emerged from the peaceful dark of the winding branches of Yggdrasil, he stepped out into darkness, and bright lights on the corners of his vision. All blurred and hazy and moving too fast. People rushing by.

No.

Not people.

The Chitauri. They were everywhere, walking past him, talking and shouting and hissing. Loki backed up and stumbled as he tripped over the place where the sidewalk met grass. He fell heavily on his shoulder, and pain spiked through it. So he curled in on himself, whimpering and covering his head with his arms.

Loki went rigid, bracing for a blow.

"Is he okay? Oh my god. Sir? Sir! Are you okay?"

A question.

He had to answer. Had to answer. But this didn't make any sense.

Thanos had never asked him if he was okay.

Loki opened his eyes to see a woman, a Midgardian woman, leaning over him, gripping the strap of her purse. Behind her were more Midgardians, walking on the street or the sidewalk, some of them staring at him. There were no Chitauri.

Idiot.

Idiot.

There were no Chitauri.

Why couldn't he see what was right in front of his face? Why did he keep _doing_ this? He couldn't even see properly. Couldn't even last ten minutes without turning into a pathetic, crying mess.

He didn't use to be like this.

This was Thanos' fault.

Loki held on tightly to his anger. His eyes must have shown it, and perhaps he had bared his teeth, because the woman leaned away slightly, although she didn't leave. Loki stood up, tense as a wound up spring, his entire being itching to kill something. Hurt something.

He could hurt her.

But he wouldn't. He wouldn't. He would save that for Thanos.

So he backed away a step, into the embrace of his _seidr_, into the darkness of the void, and out onto a different beach. He glared when he stumbled, tired from even that short distance.

But he was alone here.

He breathed sharply, looking for something to take out his anger on.

_How dare Thanos do this to him?_

_How dare he?_

_And why did this have to happen? Once Loki escaped, wasn't he supposed to be free? And yet he still kept seeing them, everywhere, even his own eyes deceiving him, his own mind…_

_Why did he have to be so goddamn _stupid_?_

Loki wrapped his arms tightly around his chest, digging his fingers into his sides.

Stupid.

He was so stupid.

And he tore at the bandaid on his chest, throwing it to the sand. He lifted his neckline and stared down at the word. Whore. Whore. Pounding in his head.

He could smell it - the acrid smell of flesh burning. Cooking meat.

It had made his mouth water.

It had made his _mouth water._

Loki raised his hand, and pure energy exploded a ridge of sand, making it fly up in a spray like sea foam. He breathed sharply when it exhausted him further, but he didn't stop, screaming as he lashed out at the empty beach.

His voice became raw and ragged, like it did when he was screaming in the throne room, screaming beneath their fists or the whip or Thanos' heavy body. Loki closed his mouth, holding back the screams and the sobs that rose up in his throat like wild waves of water. They got through anyway - in the form of the tears that welled up in his eyes or the red crescent moons that were carved into his hands, where his nails dug into his skin.

Loki fell to his knees in the sand, too tired to stand upright.

But his magic exploded outwards, fueled by his rage. It exploded, and burned along Loki's skin, and all around him the sand flew upwards, turning into a cloud that whirled around him and hid the stars, smothering him in darkness and a too-small space.

He started to panic.

_Of course he did._

Everything made him panic. The sand made him panic and the people made him panic and waking up in the morning and fast movement and loud noises and touch and _everything_ made him panic.

He used to be so strong.

Now he was so _disgustingly weak._

And he couldn't slow down his breathing. Couldn't. Couldn't do anything right. Too stupid to remember that it was just sand, it wasn't going to grab him. Just sand burning his eyes, not the smoke from the metal that was _too close_, burning _so much_, and the horrible, sickening dread that was like a tangible thing, stuck in his throat.

Loki caught threads of his _seidr_ in his fingers and lashed out with them, viciously, hurling the sand out of the sky.

And then he clawed at the word on his chest, nails ripping in too deep because no matter what he did to himself, it wouldn't hurt as much as what Thanos was done, and he didn't even remember what it was like to think that getting scratched actually hurt.

"Get _out!"_ he screamed, voice cracking, but it wasn't loud enough to drive away the pounding in his head.

He reached out for his _seidr_ and it reached just as eagerly for his hand. It snapped up into the sky like a snake, hissing at him, and he ripped his shirt away to give it better access.

But it looked like a whip.

And he was panicking again. Burying his face in his arms, biting back any sound but panicking, panicking, unable to breathe. And there was no one there to help him. No one to tell him to match their breathing. To remind him that everything was all right.

No one. He was alone.

_But it was supposed to be better this way!_

Loki curled up there on the beach, and shivered as his magic seeped back into his skin. He was exhausted. He hurt. And when he woke up, he wouldn't remember why he was here.

A roar came from behind him. The stilted, warped roar of a helicopter's blades sawing through the air, slowing down. Loki flinched and sat up and froze, crouching like an animal poised to spring. Another helicopter landed beside it. And another. He was surrounded. He couldn't breathe.

And agents poured out of their doors, turning and pointing guns at him.

"Well, isn't this a surprise," someone said. It was Nick Fury, jumping out of the helicopter and spinning to face him, a handgun in his hand and his eyes devoid of any emotion. "Must be Christmas."


	9. Chapter 9

Tony only saw the helicopter because he was sitting on the beach, cursing at the water and hurling rocks into it. He paced along the sandbar, ranting to the air. He left footprints in the sand, everywhere except for the place where Loki had written "_Thank you."_

He didn't know what to think.

And it didn't matter, because he saw the helicopter, and he didn't really have a choice then, did he? SHIELD must have come for Loki. And Tony had to at least be there. He had to at least see what happened.

He couldn't sit here in this stupid shack being useless.

There were hundreds of reasons why Loki could have left. And sure, some of them were malicious. He could have been tricking Tony. Lying. He had certainly lied about not having his magic, and he could have done that for a multitude of despicable reasons.

Or he might not have.

Maybe he was just _scared_.

So he put on his suit and took off across the lake, brushing the water with the tips of his fingers, leaving a trail of waves, fire, and smoke.

He reached the mainland in less than twenty seconds, and didn't slow down as he cut through the beachside city, soaring over the busy streets and crowded fast food places. It was two in the morning. He had been downstairs in the kitchen at 1:45, drinking for about ten minutes before going to check on Loki. He had scanned the entire sandbar at least five times before finally accepting that he was gone.

His first instinct was to be angry.

But he shouldn't be.

Loki had been tortured.

Loki had been tortured and he felt like he couldn't trust anyone. And, if Tony was in his place, wouldn't he feel safer being alone? Even if it meant lying to get there?

He couldn't be thinking rationally. Tony hadn't been when he got home.

()()()

The helicopters were already leaving when Tony arrived. Three of them. He ducked behind a tree (ridiculous, yeah, but it seemed to work, because no one shot at him) and followed at a distance. Then he gave up following at a distance because he wanted to be where the action was. (Damn his short attention span.)

He flew up next to the middle helicopter and looked in the window. No Loki. But they definitely noticed him, because everyone started staring at him - looking ridiculous with their dark sunglasses and their jaws dropped open - but hey, it was a reasonable reaction. He could imagine that the sight of a metal face in the window would be a bit disturbing.

He saluted them and flew to the next helicopter.

Bingo.

There he was, sitting cross-legged on the floor with murder in his eyes. His eyes widened when he saw Tony. Tony grinned at him, forgetting that he was wearing a helmet. God, he was a dumbass sometimes.

He knocked on the window.

Fury swiveled in his chair to glare at him, his head resting almost delicately on his fist. There were five SHIELD agents and one angry god in the helicopter.

Oh, and one of the agents had a black eye. Another was cradling his right arm. A third was slumped in the corner, barely breathing, next to a puddle of blood.

Damn.

Fury himself seemed unscathed… until he turned his head and Tony saw the long, winding gash that crossed his face, almost perfectly parallel to the one that cut beneath the eye patch.

So Loki definitely hadn't been playing around.

Fury gestured to another agent, who pressed a button on the ceiling. The helicopter's door slid open, and Tony stepped inside with as much casualness as he could muster, but going from flying to walking on solid ground was difficult and he tripped a bit, and had to grab the wall to steady himself.

Yeah, Loki was right. He was clumsy. And if he ever got the chance, Tony would be sure to tell him over a meal straight off of Taco Bell's breakfast menu.

The door closed, and Tony lowered his face plate. "Hello. I'm here. What were your other two wishes?"

Tony swore that he saw Loki smirk at his joke.

"Why the hell are you here, Stark?" Fury asked, standing up. He didn't even sway with the motion of the helicopter. In contrast, Tony almost fell every time he let go of the wall.

Tony glanced at Loki.

"I was in the area," Tony said. "And I saw you. Well, more accurately, Jarvis saw you. However, he doesn't have a body, so I had to show up on his behalf. Thought we could hang out. How are things? And why is he here?" he asked, pointing at Loki.

"He was on a beach," Fury said. "We've been trying to track him ever since he broke out of his cell, but the damn machine wasn't working. Or else, he was smart and wasn't using his magic. But today, there was a sudden spike in energy. He led us right to him. Like an idiot." Fury's one eye was full of contempt.

"Now, now. No need for insults. Let's all play nice," Tony said. He was watching Loki closely, searching for some sign. Maybe Loki would try to communicate with him. "What kind of energy?"

"Magical energy," Fury said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Well, yeah, Tony had known that. And he was still pissed that Loki had lied to him.

"As if it makes a difference," Loki practically spat, his eyes flashing. He was looking at Fury. "You know nothing."

"I think I know enough," Fury said.

Loki laughed. But it was cold. Humorless. "Mortals. Thinking you know everything, so you never have to _listen_!" his anger didn't show itself obviously - in the slamming of a fist or the raising of his voice. But Tony didn't have to look much deeper to see that his body was tense, wound up. If he could, he would have killed everyone in that helicopter.

But Tony did have to look deep to see the panic that was buried beneath the surface. His eyes darted to the windows and back again. His breathing was just the smallest bit off, his voice the smallest bit strained.

Loki had lied. And, well, there was the whole murder thing. It was dangerous to trust him.

But Tony had always been known for making reckless decisions.

"All right," Tony said. "Stop the fucking helicopter. We're going down for a pit stop."

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Fury demanded, starting forward when Tony grabbed the pilot's shoulder, pinning him to his seat with one hand and using his other to make the helicopter begin flying downwards.

Instantly, two guns were pointed at Tony's face. One of them was Fury's. The other three agents weren't in any condition to be holding weapons. All in all, it wasn't the most intimidating sight.

He lifted the face plate. "Uh uh uh, director," he said, waving his finger back and forth. "I think you're forgetting which of us is wearing armor. I could kill you in a heartbeat," he warned, lifting his hand, pointing the repulsor at Fury's head.

"You wouldn't," Fury said.

"Do you want to bet on that?"

The helicopter went quiet.

"I wanted to believe the best in you, Stark. I was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt, assume that he was controlling you or somethin'. But now… I will make you public enemy number _one_. You will lose your company, your money, and your friends," Fury said, continuing to step towards Tony, with his handgun pointed uselessly at his head. "Unless you step away from the controls, and leave this helicopter."

Tony doubted that Fury could actually do it.

But he would certainly try.

So Tony glanced at Loki. Loki had already been watching him, eyes unreadable. "Bring him over to me," Tony said, holding out his hand as if waiting for Fury to put a wad of cash in it. He was unwilling to leave his spot near the front of the helicopter. "And don't hurt him, you monsters."

Fury's eyes were burning the side of Tony's head, but he didn't turn to look. "Fine," Fury said. "Fine. I see you've made your choice. You. Do as the man says."

A SHIELD agent grabbed Loki by the arm, and Tony didn't miss his flinch. She dragged Loki over to Tony and shoved him, making him stumble and crash into Tony's side.

"God, you're heavy," Tony muttered, putting a hand on his shoulder to support him.

Loki opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Apparently I'm helping you. And only God knows why I keep doing that. Although, it looks like you did a number on them yourself," Tony said.

Loki glanced down at the unconscious agent on the floor. "They attacked me first."

Tony patted Loki on the shoulder. "We're going to have a nice, long chat about this later. Once I park this thing, and let all these agents out at their stop. Which happens to be..." he looked away from Loki, focusing on flying. They were nearing another beach. It didn't have a helipad, but since when had a lack of an empty space ever stopped him from parking? "That beach in the middle of nowhere."

He landed the thing halfway in the water, shrugged, and opened the doors. "Everybody out!" he yelled, waving his arms. "If you're a SHIELD creep, get out of the helicopter!"

"You're making a big mistake, Stark," Fury said, before walking out the join the rest of his creep-squad.

Probably, yeah.

He did that a lot.

"I just did a crazy, stupid thing," he said, as they lifted into the air, leaving Fury and his agents behind on the beach. "So please tell me that you ran off for some perfectly innocent reason and not because you're trying to trick me somehow."

Loki was silent.

"Hey, this is kind of important. Because I could still dump you in the ocean if I so chose. Why'd you leave? I'm putting a lot on the line for this, you know, and I'd like to know that my efforts are warranted."

Loki stepped away from him. "You didn't have to come help me, Stark. You chose this! It's your own damn fault."

"What is?"

"Fury said you'll lose your money, your company…"

Tony scoffed. "He can't do that."

"Your friends?"

"Sure. Maybe. But why are you so worried about it?"

Loki stared at him. "I don't… no, no, why are you here? I don't understand."

"Human decency. I keep telling you."

"That's not it!" Loki cried, his voice very nearly breaking.

Tony glanced at him. He set the helicopter for autopilot and walked towards Loki, who was gripping the copilot's seat very tightly. His shirt was torn in the front, but he had pulled it up to hide his chest. That didn't mean that Tony couldn't see the blood that had stained the front of his shirt. "What do you mean?"

Loki's eyes darted around as if he was searching for an answer. "I… I have done nothing but hurt you. I attacked your city. You can't just _forget_ that. And I lied! I told you that my magic was gone. I used it to escape! Why would you trust me? It makes no sense!"

Tony was caught off guard by Loki's reasoning. "Uhh…" he said, temporarily forgetting why he had stepped into the helicopter in the first place. But it didn't take long to remember. "Loki. Look. Yeah, if you're tricking me, I'm gonna be pissed. But the thing is, if I was in your place, I could see myself doing the exact same thing. Running off like that. You were scared. Am I right?" _And I saw your injuries. I don't think I could live with myself if I let SHIELD torture and kill you after I saw what was burned into your chest._

It was Loki's turn to look caught off guard. He stared at Tony with his mouth open for a few moments, before licking his lips and saying, "Staying alive is easier to do alone."

Tony had to pause to allow Loki's words to sink in. "You thought I would hurt you. You still thought that I was going to hurt you."

Loki swallowed. "No. I… No. No."

Tony was not convinced. "You sure?"

Loki looked away.

"We just need to set some ground rules. As long as you're sleeping in my house, eating my food, you'll follow them, okay?"

"You're going to let me stay?" Loki asked. He sounded suspicious.

"I…" Tony licked his lips. "I think so. Yes, I think I am. And as for the rules: will you follow them?"

"Depends on what they are," Loki said. "I don't want to end up juggling burritos for your entertainment."

Tony raised his eyes to the ceiling. "You are. So annoying. Anyway. Yes. Rule one of… staying at my place. We don't hurt each other. As long as you are under my roof, I _won't hurt you_. If you leave and start murdering or hurting innocent people, I'll kill you. If _I_ attack you, feel free to hurt me in self-defense. And vice versa. But otherwise, I don't hurt you, you don't hurt me. Okay?"

Tony looked at Loki. He had frozen in place, hardly moving a muscle, staring at him. He was blinking rapidly. Hesitating. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself, his eyes boring holes into Tony's. Searching him, perhaps? Did Loki think that Tony wasn't going to follow his rule?

"Okay," Loki said, barely above a whisper.

Tony smiled at him. "Okay. Rule two. If you ever feel uncomfortable with _anything_, whether it's something I did that's bringing up bad memories, or something in the house, or the food, or whatever, just say… um…" he cast around in his mind, trying to think of a word. "Red." Simple. "Just say 'red'. If anything wrong _at all_, say it. If it's me that's the problem, I'll back off. If it's something else, I'll throw it in the trash. Okay?"

"Will you say it if you need to?" Loki asked.

Tony hadn't expected that. "Um. Yeah. Yes, I will. If I need to."

Loki nodded. "Then… that's okay."

Weird that Loki would take that into consideration.

But then, everything about Loki in general was just really, really weird.

"Third," Tony said. "We're gonna talk. Whether you like it or not. And trust me, I don't like it either, but it has to happen if we're gonna get anywhere. So if I ever think that we need to talk, we're gonna sit the fuck down and _talk_."

He swallowed.

"And fourth, if you're gonna leave, please tell me first."

Loki waited a long moment before slowly nodding. "Okay," he said. "I will."

"Right," Tony said. "Well, then I'm announcing our first little talk, right now. What's the deal with your magic? How did you hide it from SHIELD? And why did you keep pretending that you didn't have it?"

Loki shifted, perhaps uncomfortably, staring out the window. His fingers flexed. "It was the Tiger Eye. I mean… there was no Tiger Eye. My magic was dying. It turned into that to protect itself."

"It can do that?"

Loki glanced back at him sharply. "Evidently, yes." He took a deep breath. "SHIELD did not sense it because it was too weak. And then you took it, and I had to pretend it was a healing stone so you would give it to me."

Oh. That made sense.

"The stone is gone now. My magic is a part of me once again. I had to let it back in, so that SHIELD couldn't take it. But it… I didn't actually mean to do this," he said, gesturing at the blood on the floor. "It's not very controlled right now. I will try my best, but if I get angry, I might accidentally hurt you," his voice got quiet.

Tony raised his arms. "Good thing I'm still wearing my suit."

"My _seidr_ can easily bend your flimsy Midgardian metal."

"Oh-ho-ho! I see how it is." Tony said. "I'll have you know that _this_," he raised his arms again, gesturing down at the suit he was wearing. "Is indestructible."

Loki grinned. "Are you forgetting which one of us got thrown out the window?"

Tony mock-glared at him, pointing a finger at his face. "I offered you a drink. I was being _nice_. That was uncalled for."

"At least you got the chance to get out of that awful room. Terrible choice in furniture. So gaudy. Hideous blue." Loki said, finally letting go of the armrest. He slumped down into the co-pilot's seat.

"Oh, do enlighten me. It's not as if all you ever wear is black and green, Mr. Dark and Brooding."

Loki grinned, and swiveled his chair to face Tony. Tony did likewise, and his foot ended up touching Loki's, which he was hyper-aware of for some reason. He tried not to look. "Better than red and gold," Loki said.

"Touche."

About twenty minutes (full of more back-and-forth banter) passed, before Tony found a place to land, on a random beach. There wasn't a safe house here, he just needed a spot to drop off the helicopter. Unfortunately, that meant that they would need another way to get to the closest safe house, which was probably in Quebec. He had a secluded mansion near Montreal.

"Right," he said, after he had crash-landed the thing. Tony went into the back, looking for stuff to steal, but he just found a bunch of guns. Then they got out, and Tony waved away the smoke that was curling up in front of his face. "Uh… just wait a second." He took out his phone and called Jarvis.

"Heyyyy, buddy. Any plans on getting us to Montreal?"

There was a beat of silence.

**I can book you two a flight in Minneapolis. Flight time will be approximately 2 hours, 45 minutes. The next plane leaves at six in the morning.**

"What time is it now?"

**It is now one in the morning, sir.**

"Book that flight." Tony said. He shoved his phone back into his pocket, and glanced at Loki, who was looking up at the smoke. "We're going to Minneapolis," Tony announced.

Loki turned around. "I don't know where that is, but it sounds good to me."

The beach was rocky, and Tony was feeling reckless, so he put his hand on Loki's arm to help him. Then it was quiet, aside from the soft _whrr_ as Tony walked, and the cry of a seagull circling overhead, diving down beneath the softly lapping waves.

They walked over a railroad line, and through some tall grass. There was a small street, lined with shops, beyond it. One of them was an ice cream shop.

Perhaps this could be a gesture of good will, to prove that Tony really didn't intend to hurt him?

Tony glanced at it. Then at Loki. Then back at the shop. "I mean… it's called The Magic Slab. Basically Magic Stab. We have to go in." Recklessly, he stepped out of his suit and shoved it down into the tall grass.

"Eating Midgardian dessert when we could be getting to Minneapolis to make sure that we don't miss our flight? Wonderful idea," Loki said dryly. Then again, he said everything dryly. And then again again, it didn't sound like he was complaining.

Loki had never had ice cream before - which was an _atrocity_ \- so Tony helped him out by making him get Moose Tracks, in a waffle cone. Tony bought chocolate, and when they left the shop they were confronted by a taxi. The driver was waiting with his elbow out the window, eyes glued to his phone.

Tony called Jarvis again. "Tell me you didn't."

**The taxi is for you, sir.**

"If you had a body, I would kiss you!" Tony cried.

Loki snorted. The driver glanced at them weirdly.

Loki spent the taxi ride making fun of every aspect of Minnesota, and Tony played along. The ride was several hours long, but, miraculously, it wasn't even boring. When they finished their ice cream cones, they both threw the wrappers out the windows and laughed about it. Then Tony let Loki try on his glasses - it was not the best look, but Loki still spent several long moments studying himself in the selfie camera on Tony's phone. Their feet were touching again, and sometimes their knees, too. Loki fell asleep for a while, and his shoulder rested against Tony's.

Weird, weird, weird.

But… nice.

Nice.

And Tony didn't regret it. He would rather hang out with Loki than with SHIELD. He hadn't been exaggerating when he called them monsters. And the other Avengers were part of the problem. So he would rather be with Loki than with them.

Which was _so weird._

But no, he didn't regret it.

And Loki seemed to be having a wonderful time. When they got to the airport, he stared at the airplanes with awe, and when he walked past the place where people picked up their luggage, he went over and freaked out (in a good way) about the conveyor belts.

As the airport started to grow more crowded, however, he seemed to get more on edge. Tapping his foot, watching the people nervously, his eyes darting around, arms wrapped tightly over his chest in an "X", crossing right over the place where that word was. Tony realized that there was still blood leaking through his shirt.

They sat down near the terminal - ten minutes until their flight boarded - but when someone sat next to Loki, he gripped the armrest very tightly, leaning towards Tony. People were all around them, talking loudly and laughing.

"Red," Loki whispered.

Tony nodded, and they stood up. He scanned the area for a place to go. It wasn't a good idea to go outside, because they wouldn't have time to get to the door and back before their plane arrived. But Tony took Loki to a less crowded spot near a window, behind a tall, plastic potted plant.

Loki wrapped both arms around himself, leaned his head back against the window and looked up at the ceiling, trying to breathe. Well, that wasn't gonna work. Tony tapped him on the shoulder. "Breathe with me."

He put his hands on Loki's shoulders and breathed, slowly. Loki tried to match it, and eventually he did. He swallowed, and looked at the ground. Tony let go, but didn't back away. "You okay?"

Loki looked past Tony, at all the people walking past. It was so loud in there. The rumble of voices, the pounding of footsteps.

Loki nodded. Tony was not convinced.

"Do you wanna stay here?" he asked.

Loki nodded again. He closed his eyes. And Tony could see his lips moving, but no sound came out, and Tony couldn't make out the words.

Several minutes passed. Over the microphone, someone announced that their flight was boarding. But Tony and Loki stayed there until most of the crowd had already disappeared into the terminal. Then Tony said, "We should probably go."

Loki opened his eyes. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize. You're good," Tony said.

It was Loki's turn to look unconvinced.

They walked onto the airplane, and took seats next to each other near the back. When asked, Loki said that he would rather have the window seat.

And it was weird to sit so close to the guy who had chucked him out of a window. Weird to be on an _airplane_ with him. It should feel wrong. Tony should still hate him.

But it didn't feel wrong.

And he didn't hate him.

Loki was hugging himself, closing his eyes again, shrinking into the corner. And how could Tony hate someone who looked like that? How could he do anything but help them? Even if they lied, even if they ran away?

"Hey. Hey, buddy. There's a beautiful view out the window. Just look out the window," Tony said, because he thought it might help. Loki didn't seem to hear him, so Tony tapped him on the shoulder.

Bad idea.

He flinched horribly, his eyes snapping open. "I'm sorry!" he cried, pressing himself into the corner where his seat met the side of the plane. "I'm sorry. _Fyrirgefðu."_

"Peanuts?" the flight attendant asked.

Tony turned around and glared at her. "Go the fuck away."

She stared at him, eyes wide, before "Hmph!"-ing, turning on her heel, and stalking off.

Tony looked back at Loki, who was still pressing himself into the corner. God, did he want to murder whoever had done this to him.

And he didn't want to know how many times Loki had been sitting in the corner, shaking and begging like he was now - "Please, _please_. I can't." - and no one had cared, no one had listened. How many times had his fear of crowds been perfectly reasonable? How many times had he pleaded for them not to hurt him, to listen when he said that he was sorry, but they just hadn't cared?.

They had hurt Loki, hurt the guy who had eaten ice cream and tried on Tony's glasses and who laughed at all his jokes. They had beat all that laughter out of him, time and time again, beaten him into a huddled mess in the corner. They had beaten it into his head, so that even once he was free of them, he still thought that they were going to come back and find him.

Of course he had been scared. Of course he had run away.

_Of course_ Tony was going to stay with him, and help him. And guess what, SHIELD? He didn't think he would ever regret it.

"Hey, it's me, Tony. You're on a plane. And you're safe. No one's gonna hurt you."

In only a few minutes, his breathing had calmed down, and when he looked at Tony again, there was recognition in his eyes.

"I wasn't kidding about the view," Tony said, pretending that nothing had happened. "It's beautiful."

Loki turned to see what had caught his attention. Tony saw a small smile cross his face when he saw the sun cutting a blinding trail across the lake, and the jagged line of the shore stumbling away into the water. The sky was a light pink, the clouds turned red. Sunrise.

"Didn't even notice that we didn't sleep last night," Tony said. "Are you tired?"

Loki shook his head.

"Makes sense. You slept like a baby in the taxi. Anyway, I think I'm gonna catch a few Z's. Unless you want me to stay awake," Tony said, cautiously, watching Loki carefully. "I will. It's not a problem."

Loki looked at him. "No. Sleep if you're tired."

"Okay," Tony said. He took off his jacket and shoved it against the headrest, using it as a pillow. "G'night, Loki," he said, as the sun rose over the water.

"Good night," Loki said.

()()()

When Tony woke up, his head was on Loki's shoulder. He could hear Loki's slow, even breathing, and feeling the rise and fall of his chest. Loki's hair tickled his forehead. Tony's hand was squished in between their knees.

He was caught between the urge to smile and the urge to pull away.

He didn't want to wake Loki up, and besides, this was more comfortable than sitting by himself in the corner, so he decided to smile.

()()()

_These two are just so stubborn - they refuse to stop being adorable! (And royally fucked up. Of course.)_

_Oh, and my beta reader asked me why the ice cream shop is open in the middle of the night - and my answer is… deal with it. Minnesota is a funky place. (I've actually never been there lol. I have no idea why I decided to have them go there other than that it just popped into my head). And also, another thing about the ice cream shop - I got the name off of a list of "good ice cream shop names" or something like that, and the first thing that popped into my head when I saw it was "Magic Stab" and I immediately burst out laughing so here you go._

_Little hint about the next chapter - it's an angst-fest! But there's also a Big Important FrostIron Moment. I'll leave you to speculate what that may be ;)_


	10. Chapter 10

_PAIN, PAIN, ANGST SADNESS, here ya go, *chucks chapter at your face* ENJOY IT!_

_(I apologize for the caps lock)_

()()()

They landed in Montreal at eight. Loki hadn't managed to get to sleep, although he had certainly tried. And when Stark's head had fallen onto his shoulder, Loki had remained perfectly still to allow him to get some rest. When Stark woke up, Loki pretended to be asleep. It was easier.

He suspected that neither of them fell back asleep after that. But both pretended to.

He breathed in slowly. His mind had been whirling ever since Stark rescued him from the SHIELD helicopter - whirling because if Stark had been planning to hurt him, surely, _surely_ he would have done it then? Surely he would have been angry?

He couldn't believe that Stark had honestly rescued him just because it was the 'right thing to do'.

But… Stark hadn't done anything to disprove his claims. Yet.

_Why?_

He didn't understand. Maybe he would have understood before Thanos - maybe he was too stupid now to comprehend something that was probably so simple.

When the plane hit the tarmac, it was with a jolt that made Loki flinch. And before he could collect himself, Stark's hand was wrapped around his arm. For some reason, Loki didn't panic when he did that, didn't even try to pull away.

Loki looked at him. Stark was already looking back.

So no, neither of them had been asleep.

Stark led him quickly through the airport, which Loki was grateful for. There was a car waiting for them, with their luggage already in the trunk. Loki only had one bag, full of all the clothes that Stark had given him, along with the toothbrush, hairbrush, and everything else. All Stark's. He owned none of it. Deserved none of it.

Stark, on the other hand, had two suitcases and a duffel bag. When they slid into the car, Loki took off the sunglasses and hat that Stark had given him to wear in the airport. Stark took off his hat, but kept on his sunglasses, even though the sky was cloudy, and there was no point in wearing them.

They drove for two hours, and came upon a ridge where the hills dropped away into a valley, dotted with bushes and trees. There was a sprawling house tucked away in the hills. It was white, and stood out as if it was _trying_ to be noticed.

"You're sure SHIELD won't notice the enormous mansion in the middle of the valley?" Loki asked.

Stark paused, probably to roll his eyes, as he pulled his suitcases out of the trunk. "Of course they'll notice it. They just won't know that we're there."

"Are you sure? Because there's more glass than walls."

Stark lowered his glasses to look at him sharply. "Architecture. It's modern. It's _cool_. And there are blinds."

Loki gave a noncommittal grunt. "Cool," he muttered under his breath, as they trudged up to the front door.

"Jarvis. Open sesame," Stark said.

The door swung open, and they entered.

It was small. And dark, until Stark said, "Let there be light," and flipped a switch, drowning everything in blinding whiteness. "Shit," he said, squinting. "What kind of bulbs are these? I think I went a little overboard."

Loki put his sunglasses back on.

And Stark led him on a tour, although it was clear he didn't know the place very well either, because he got lost several times and had to ask Jarvis for directions. Loki followed him contentedly, listening to him ramble. Loki was too tired to ridicule the safe house at the moment.

He yawned.

"Tired?" Stark asked, turning around. "Well, that's convenient, because this happens to be your bedroom." He pushed open a door. "There you go."

Loki walked inside. It was quite similar to his bedroom at the Minnesota Shack, except smaller. Almost cramped. If it weren't for the huge glass window set in the far wall, letting in so much light, it might have reminded him of his cell. But, instead, it felt huge, because he could see outside. Past the window, there was a dizzying drop, tumbling away into the rolling valley, the trees, the flowers.

And yes, there were flowers.

Big, red ones.

This didn't remind him of his cell. This reminded him of his room in Asgard.

"This is…" Loki tried. "This… this is wonderful," he turned suddenly, and Stark leaned back, amused. "I don't know how I can repay you for all this. Everything."

And there was so much that he owed Stark for. Saving him from execution at the hands of SHIELD - twice. Giving him food and clothes and toothpaste and this wonderful room.

"Loki," Stark said. "You don't have to repay me. That's not how this works."

Lies. Of course that was how it worked.

"Do you want to sleep?" Stark asked. He was behind Loki, his hand hovering over the doorknob.

Loki nodded.

Stark smiled. "Okay. Me too. If you need me when you wake up, tell Jarvis to get me. I won't mind. And if you don't need me, there's food in the kitchen if you're hungry. You can go anywhere, just don't leave without telling me first."

"I know."

"Okay." Stark waved at him. "Sweet dreams." And he left, closing the door softly behind him.

Loki didn't hesitate before grabbing the pillow and blanket from the bed and lying down in the corner of the room. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep in the bed. "Jarvis?" he asked.

**Yes, Loki?**

"Can you close the blinds, please? And turn off the light."

Jarvis did. And the room went dark. Loki's heart thumped wildly in his chest, but he was able to get it under control quickly. He hugged the pillow to his chest, buried his face in it, and fell asleep.

()()()

When he woke up, the cell was unnaturally dark, and he didn't know why. Usually, at least a bit of light filtered in through the bars from the torch on the opposite wall. And something was wrapped around him. Something tight and hot and suffocating.

Loki fell into panic immediately, clawing at it, but it wouldn't release its hold. What was it? A Chitauri? But the Chitauri never slept in his cell with him.

Loki started to hyperventilate, his breaths coming short, not getting enough oxygen in his lungs. It was all he could hear - his own ragged breathing, loud in his ears. He clamped his teeth down on his lip, trying to calm himself. They didn't like to hear his loud breathing. They said it was annoying.

A green light erupted out of the darkness. Loki flinched and jerked away, a whimper fighting to escape his throat, until he realized it was coming from him. It was him. It was his _magic_. How had he not felt it?

And why did he have it?

What was going on?

He wrapped himself in his _seidr_, holding it close, trying to draw some comfort from having his power so near.

And he ripped the blanket away, and filled the room with bright green light.

It was not his cell.

It was…

Where was he?

Why was he here?

He must have forgotten again. He was stupid, and he always forgot everything.

Loki crossed his arms tightly, leaned against the wall, raised his eyes to the ceiling and tried to remember. But it was dark, and the wrong memories kept resurfacing. Memories of others, so many others, sweating bodies filling up a room just like this one, all of them grabbing at him and turning him around and tracing their fingers along his skin. The smell of blood. And it all descended into the sound of screaming.

A green flash made a table flip in the air and burst into pieces. He hadn't even raised his hands. He whimpered and clutched them close to his chest, but everything kept exploding. He didn't know why. He backed away until his back hit something rigid.

Blinds.

The window shattered.

And the door opened. The light came on, and Stark was standing there - _why_ was Stark standing there? - but Loki knew as soon as he had wondered, knew why Stark was here. This was Thanos. This was a trick. Like with Thor. Stark was going to grab him and force him to his knees.

The door slammed back against the wall, and snapped in half, splintering.

Stark put his hands up. "Hey. It's me. Just Tony. I won't hurt you."

"_Lygari,_" Loki whispered, hoarsely, in between pants. "_Lygari. Lygari. _You will."

"No. No, I won't." Stark took a step forward. "Can I just…"

"Please," Loki said. Begging. "Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He took a step back, towards the broken window.

"No! Stop!" Stark cried, raising his voice. "You'll fall!"

A jet of green hit Stark in the chest. He threw his arms up and staggered backwards. "Jarvis! Suit! Suit now!" He shouted, voice raspy. And loud. He was angry. He was a Chitauri and he was going to cross the room and grab Loki and push him to the ground and...

Another flash of green hit him in the stomach. Stark flew back, hit the wall, and slumped to the ground. The corner of the door frame exploded. Green sparks burst up from the carpet, sizzling.

Stark ducked to avoid another blast of green light. Loki wasn't trying to stop it anymore. Each jet of light felt like an added weight on his chest, dragging him down. Magic wasn't meant to be used like this. He was exhausting himself. And yet he couldn't make it stop.

Pieces of metal shot down the hallway, attaching to Stark's hands, feet, arms, legs, chest. They clanged with the impact, and shifted like scales as they aligned to his body. The face plate was last, snapping down, turning his eyes bright white.

Loki took a step back.

His foot met nothingness.

And his stomach dropped, his heart stopped, as he flailed, trying to grab onto something, but everything was slipping away. The house was gone. There was only rocks, and sky, and clouds and falling.

He was falling.

And Thor was above him, Thor was screaming for him… no, Loki was screaming and Thor was grinning, putting hands on his shoulders, pushing him down…

Then he stopped falling.

Hands, arms, no - a body was wrapped around him, tightly. Loki pushed against it but it was made of metal and he couldn't break out of its grip.

So he did was he always did. He froze and he closed his eyes and he tried not to breathe, tried not to feel. He bit down on his lip to keep himself from whimpering, begging, screaming, although it never worked. They always wanted him to scream. They never stopped until he screamed.

But he wouldn't. Wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

Why? Why did it matter?

He couldn't remember.

But he was silent as he was flown upwards, back through the shattered window. The metal thing landed gently, lifted him up, supporting his knees with one hand and his back with the other. Loki struggled weakly but he was exhausted and the metal wasn't going to give. It was hopeless.

So he threw his arms over his head, for no reason other than it felt normal and it felt safe, and let the machine that was hiding the Chitauri disguised as Tony Stark carry him down the hall to a living room. He was deposited carefully on a couch.

The faceplate snapped up. Stark's face was there, his eyes unreadable.

"I'm sorry," Loki said. He didn't know if he was speaking English or not. "I'm _sorry_. Please - I'm sorry."

He backed away to the furthest corner of the couch, and pulled his knees up to his chest, arms still protecting his head, trying to breathe, his eyes never leaving Stark.

"Okay. Okay." Stark lifted a hand to his face, then lowered it. He looked up at the ceiling, then out the window, then at the ground, then at Loki. "Stay here," he pointed at Loki. "If you stay here, I won't hurt you. If you move, I'll… I'll…" he hesitated. "I'll make you regret it."

Loki swallowed. Shaking.

"Do you understand?" Stark asked.

"Yes," Loki said.

When Stark returned, it was with a tall glass of water, a bowl of something gray and mushy looking, a tin box of bandages, and a pillow tucked under one arm. He set the water and the bowl down on the floor, put the pillow and box on the couch, and stepped out of his suit.

"Thank god, you stayed," he muttered, more to himself than to Loki.

What was he going to do to him?

When Stark grabbed the water and held it out to him, Loki whimpered, curling in on himself and bracing for a blow. Stark squeezed his eyes shut, breathing slowly. Then he opened his eyes again, and placed the water carefully on the table. "You can have some," he said. "Drink as much as you want. It's not… oh, fuck." He picked up the water again and took a sip. "See? Not poisoned."

He ate a spoonful of the mushy substance and put that beside the water. "It's oatmeal. Cinnamon and apple flavor. It's good."

Loki didn't move, his eyes never leaving Stark.

Stark handed him the pillow. "I don't know if you want this. But it might make you feel better. Um…"

Loki hugged it to his chest, and Stark smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Okay. Um… I'm so sorry, I'm not actually going to hurt you, I just didn't want you to run off and end up hurting yourself more…" he ran a hand down the side of his face, and rubbed at his eyes. When he looked at Loki again, his eyes were shining unnaturally. Watering? "You remember me, right? Tony Stark? You threw me out a window." He smiled at that, then looked to the side, wiping at his eyes. "And we… we had ice cream. We escaped SHIELD twice!"

"No," Loki said, in response to the question.

"Yeah, we did. We did all of that," Stark said. "And we had a great time." He laughed, but it broke in the middle and died away. He sat down on the very edge of the couch, as far from Loki as possible, covering his face with his hands.

Loki didn't understand what Thanos' plan was. Surely he knew that Loki wouldn't fall for such an obvious lie.

No, it made no sense.

Which scared him even more.

"It's okay," Stark said, softly. "I'll stay here. I'll stay here until you remember."

And he did stay. He stayed and he told Loki stories of screeching seagulls, fortune cookies, an airport, a Tiger Eye. None of it made sense. And Loki wondered how long this would last before Thanos grew bored and decided to end the illusion, to throw him back into his cell.

Eventually Stark stopped talking. He sat there, hands clasped tightly in his lap. He wiped at his eyes again. "Holy shit. I'm a mess," he said, quietly, to the floor.

Loki didn't know how much time had passed, before he finally said, "Moose tracks."

Stark whirled around. "Yes!" he cried, his voice breaking in the middle. "Yes. Yes. Moose tracks." He pulled himself up into a crouch, staring at Loki. "You remember. Don't you?"

Loki panicked at the vague, open-ended question - he didn't know how to answer - before he remembered that Stark wouldn't hurt him. He had said as much, time and time again. Had made it a rule. And Loki had believed him. And… he still did. Because - remember? - Stark had rescued him from the helicopter, and hadn't even hurt him for leaving, even though there was no reason, no reason, and Loki was too stupid to understand.

"I don't know," he answered, honestly. He remembered a few things, but how was he to know if there were others that he was still forgetting?

"But you remember the ice cream flavor. It's hilarious, by the way, that that's the first thing you remember, but still, you _remember._ Right? Right?" Stark sounded so hopeful, so eager.

Loki shook his head, tangling his hand in his hair. "I don't know."

"Okay. That's okay." Stark said. "That's fine."

Slowly, memories drifted back into his mind like feathers. Some he could only grab for, like he was drowning and grabbing desperately for a rope, but they escaped his grasp. Some were clear and focused and stood out brightly. And there were blank spaces, but not enough to keep him from throwing the pillow aside and reaching for Stark's hand. Just to be certain. Of what, he wasn't sure.

He held it for only a moment before standing. "I need to go outside," he said. "I need to. I won't go far, and I'm not running away, I just need to go outside."

And once Stark had nodded his head, Loki was fast-walking out the door and down the hill, and there he flung his arms up in the air and screamed and magic exploded outwards like a hurricane, devouring everything in its path, including him. He heard himself screaming, felt his own arms wrapped tightly around his chest, pain burning his skin like fire until it all disappeared and he was staggering backwards.

His knees hit the ground with a thud.

He stared.

He hadn't meant to do this. Hadn't meant to… _destroy_ everything.

All around him, the ground was flattened and scorched to black. And the smell of burning hung in the air, acrid and smoking and he would have screamed again, making everything burst into flame, if it wasn't for the arms that were suddenly wrapped around him, pulling him close to someone's chest.

If it was anyone else, he would have panicked and lashed out, and his magic would have consumed them both in its gnashing teeth.

But it was Stark.

Just Stark.

Who hadn't hurt him yet. Who had done nothing but help him, but be kind to him. And so there was no reason to flinch, to panic, to run away. Because perhaps, if he stayed here, he would somehow be _safe_.

So instead of lashing out, Loki gripped Stark's sleeves tightly, and pressed his forehead to the arc reactor on his chest. And instead of smelling smoke, he smelled motor oil and sweat. Instead of burning, his magic rushed through him in a calming wind, letting him breathe again.

It was humiliating, to be clinging to him like this. Humiliating, and he should let go and stand up but… he didn't want to.

When he had forgotten, he had been so desolate. There had been no hope.

But now, because Stark was kneeling next to him and hugging him close, he had some again.

And Loki knew that if it did turn out, somehow, that this was a lie, that his hope was false, if Stark turned into a Chitauri before his eyes or lashed out and punched him in the jaw, Loki would not break (it was too late for that). He would shatter.

The thought terrified him.

Hope was foolish, was dangerous, was even deadly. He should stomp it into the ground, should silence it before it could make a sound. But he couldn't bring himself to.

Perhaps he could just have this one moment. Just this moment.

And once it was over, he could be wary, again. Afraid, again. And he wouldn't touch Stark, wouldn't be near to him if he didn't have to. But for _now_, just for _now_…

He could pretend.

Loki sighed, sighed softly, and he felt Stark shiver. He closed his eyes.

Stark snorted.

"What?"

"Your eyelashes are tickling me."

Loki laughed softly. "Well, you need a shower. I'm surprised I'm even touching you. You're filthy."

"Speak for yourself."

"I smell like roses."

"Sure. Roses that took a bath in sweat."

Loki laughed into Stark's neck, and Stark laughed into Loki's hair. Loki could feel Stark's shoulders shaking with his laughter, and feel his breath on his forehead, warm, and light as a ghost's touch.

"Oh, and call me Tony," he said. "I mean, we're hugging, and crying on each other and getting all sweaty and gross. I think we should be on a first name basis by now."

"Mmm. But Tony is such an awful name."

"Is _not!"_ he cried, indignantly. "I have a pretty cool name, actually. Better than 'Fjord', or whatever you space vikings name your kids."

"A fjord is a narrow strip of water bordered by glaciers, Tony."

"Whatever." Loki could hear Tony's smile in his voice.

Eventually they pulled apart, both complaining loudly about how sweaty the other was, and went back inside. They ate oatmeal together on the couch, then both took showers. Loki put on an entirely new set of clothes and threw away the bloody shirt. He also put a new bandage on his chest.

Through it all, he couldn't seem to stop smiling.


	11. Chapter 11

_Hi guess what? A new trigger is gonna be introduced in this chapter! Yayyyy! _

_And a__ngst. But kind of a bittersweet, cute/sad angst towards the end? Enjoy?_

()()()

Tony stuck close to Loki's side all day.

He didn't ask any needless questions. If Loki wanted to talk about it, then he could talk, and Tony would listen. But instead, Loki seemed content to curl up in a fat armchair and listen as Tony rambled on about his latest project. He was also content to doze off in said armchair, and Tony watched nervously, wondering if he would have forgotten everything once he woke up.

Throughout the day, there had been gaps in his memory. When Jarvis spoke, Loki tensed and asked who was talking. When Tony explained that it was his AI, and that Loki had heard him speak before, Loki seemed to deflate. "Oh. I'm so… I must have forgotten, didn't I?"

But as the day went on, these gaps occurred less and less, until it seemed that he had his memory back. He flinched quite often still, and he didn't touch Tony at all beyond the totally-unexpected-but-weirdly-nice hug they had shared, but other than that he seemed to be back to his snarky self - making jokes at Tony's expense, and smirking at the expression on Tony's face when he heard them.

And they both knew that it was only a matter of time before _something_ went wrong - SHIELD finding them again, Loki having another panic attack or losing his memory - but when everything was going well, it was _fun._ So fun. Weirdly fun.

Now Loki was asleep. Tony checked the clock. It was only nine, but there was nothing wrong with going to bed early.

But he didn't want to leave Loki to wake up scared and alone, not knowing where he was.

So he grabbed a blanket and pillow and laid down on the couch that was next to Loki's armchair. It was uncomfortable but it would be worth a sore back if they could both avoid going through what had happened that morning again.

Although if Loki woke up with Tony in the same room as him, thinking that they were still enemies, that might make it worse.

But what else was he supposed to do?

()()()

Loki was lying on the floor, curled up in the corner.

He was crying.

"Hey," Tony said, approaching cautiously, with one hand outstretched like Loki was a cornered animal. "Hey. It's just me."

Loki shook his head, and tears splattered the walls. "No," he said, voice so quiet and yet seeming to echo. As Tony watched, he started to bleed. He raised his hands, staring at them, and gashes opened and blood flowed out in a river, pooling on the floor. A dark red stain blossomed in the center of his chest and spread until his clothes were soaked, and there was more red than pale skin. "No. _Lygari. Lygari."_

"It's just me," Tony said. "It's Tony. You know me."

Loki shook his head violently, and blood dripped down his forehead, into his eyes. "No. No. _Lygari._ I don't know who you are."

()()()

Tony woke up at midnight.

Someone was shaking him.

"Wha…" he managed to say, before groaning and pushing their arm away. "Stop. Jesus Christ, what the hell is… what you doin'?"

"Tony."

"Quit interfering with my sleep schedule, Pep."

"Tony…"

A man's voice. Had Tony hooked up with someone last night? Probably.

"Hnngh," he said. "You can let yourself out the front door. Call me."

"Are you all right? You were tossing and turning. I think you were having a nightmare. And where are we? Weren't we in a different room? I don't understand how we got here." His voice sounded urgent.

Sounded familiar.

Tony opened his eyes. "Oh. Loki. _Loki._ Did you sleep all right? Are you feeling okay?"

"I… I don't know. Are you?"

Tony groaned and threw a hand over his eyes, even though the light was off and it was so dark that he could hardly make out Loki's face. "Hell no. You say I had a nightmare?" Tony could remember bits and pieces. Mostly, all he remembered was blood.

"Yes. It woke me up."

"And were you okay when you woke up?" Tony asked, moving his arm away to meet Loki's eyes.

Loki's mouth opened and closed, then opened again. "I… I don't remember… _Fyrirgefðu."_

"That's okay," Tony said, quickly. "Don't worry. You're safe. You're just asleep in the living room."

There was silence, until Tony started to laugh.

"Oh god, we are the _worst_ two people to be sleeping in the same room, aren't we? The absolute fucking goddamn worst."

"Exactly how I would have put it. Along with dysfunctional, unstable, maladjusted…"

"Oh, come on." Tony yawned, but put up a finger to keep Loki from talking. "We're not completely bonkers, just a 'lil screwed up. No need to quote the entire thesaurus."

He heard Loki's soft sigh only a moment before he felt it, like a gentle breeze on his skin. He got goosebumps. "Just a little screwed up," Loki repeated, softly. "I like that."

"Me too."

()()()

"Is there anything you can do to protect your memories?" Tony asked.

A few minutes ago, Loki had put a hand to his head, and to the ends of his hair. "What happened to my hair?" he had asked, turning to Tony, eyes frantic. "Why is it so short?"

"You cut it."

"No I… I did?"

"Yes."

"Oh. I must have forgotten…"

Oh, and then Tony was hit by the most brilliant idea he had ever had the pleasure of being clocked over the head with: "Hey, er, your haircut's kind of crooked… want me to trim it for you?"

So now Loki was sitting in front of him and Tony was trying to figure out how the hell to cut someone's hair.

He made a few tentative snips. Surveyed his handiwork. Surprisingly, it wasn't bad. He supposed that when you were an engineer who had assembled an entire metal suit of armor in just a few days while under threat of torture, you could pretty much handle cutting someone's hair straight.

A couple of minutes passed, and then Tony asked the question. "Is there anything you can do to protect your memories? I mean, can't your magic just… I don't know, hold them in place?"

"If it could, don't you think I would have tried that already?" Loki snapped. He flexed the fingers of his other hand, breathing sharply.

"Sorry," Tony said. He cut off a large chunk. Too large? Oops.

"No… no." Loki seemed to melt, all his anger fading away. He slumped back in his seat. "You couldn't have known." He paused. "I'm sorry to have to put you through this. Seeing me so… pathetic, every morning."

"You're not pathetic," Tony said, automatically. But he did mean it. "Just a 'lil screwed up. Never pathetic. Not you." Briefly, he rested his hand on Loki's shoulder.

Loki didn't respond to that, which probably meant that he didn't believe him.

Tony finished the haircut. He walked in a circle around Loki, muttering "Hmm" several times. "Looks good," he finally said, handing Loki a mirror.

"It is surprisingly adequate," Loki said.

Tony supposed that was the best he was going to get out of him.

"Hey," Tony said, looking at him. Loki met his gaze with a raised eyebrow. "Can you show me a spell?" He pressed his pointer finger to the pad of his thumb. "Just a little one. Pleeease?" He scooted over a chair and sat in front of Loki, leaning forward eagerly.

"Fine," Loki said, then paused, seeming uncertain. Slowly, he reached out his hand. "It requires contact," he said, sounding apologetic.

Tony took his hand without hesitating.

Loki's hand was soft, and warm, and fit nicely into Tony's.

Loki took a deep breath, looking directly into Tony's eyes. He raised his other hand and green light flared from his fingertips. He turned his hand, waving his fingers around, and the light shifted like rays of sunlight, shining underwater. Ethereal.

"Do you want to feel it?" he whispered.

Tony nodded.

He held his breath as Loki offered that hand to him. Tony raised his own, cautiously, and Loki nodded. So Tony took Loki's other hand.

It was gentle.

He hadn't expected it to be gentle.

But it was a breeze, blowing through his body. He shivered at the sensation. He could feel the power whirling within him. A breeze could easily become a hurricane.

But it was gentle.

And Loki smiled, and Tony gasped as it flowed over his skin, like the tenderest of touches, the lightest of breaths. But he didn't _feel_ it. Do you feel the beating of your heart? The flowing of your blood? No, he didn't feel it, but he knew that it should have always been there. That this was something better, a better way to live.

"It's not actually touching you," Loki explained. "But everyone has some _seidr_ within them. And the empty place, where it would reside, should it grow. My magic is filling that space within you."

"I have magic?" Tony asked.

"Yes. But you are human, and cannot learn to control it. You will not live long enough," Loki said, sounding apologetic. "It structures you, it breathes life into you. But nothing more."

"Oh."

Tony felt empty once Loki's magic retreated from his body. He realized that he was breathing hard, and he swallowed, trying to calm down. "That was amazing."

Loki smiled. "Thank you."

They both glanced down at their intertwined hands. And, as one, they let go, avoiding each others' eyes and folding their hands in their laps.

()()()

Loki didn't eat dinner.

Tony had made them both spaghetti and garlic bread, because he didn't feel like going shopping. And yeah, he was an awful cook, but he had spent an hour or so toiling over this goddamn recipe, and he thought he had done a pretty decent job.

He set it in front of Loki, and Loki looked at it like _it_ was going to eat _him_. He shifted uncomfortably, pressing himself against the back of the chair, and glanced between Tony and the food several times.

"What's wrong?" Tony asked.

Loki just shook his head.

"It's not poisoned. I promise. We aren't going to hurt each other, remember?"

"But I already hurt you," Loki said. "I attacked you with my magic."

"You were scared."

"Does that make a difference?"

"Yes."

Loki met Tony's eyes cautiously. He picked up the fork, and set it down again.

"It's really not poisoned."

"I _know,"_ Loki snapped, glaring at his plate.

Tony sat down across from him and took a bite of his spaghetti. "S' good," he said, around the mouthful. He bit off a piece of garlic bread, and winced. "Um… kinda burnt. But still good. It's good! Aren't you hungry?"

Loki shook his head again, and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "No. I'm sorry."

Tony reached across the table and took his hand. Loki stared at him. "It's okay," Tony said, because he didn't know what else to say. "Don't be sorry. It's okay. I'll make you a nice breakfast. Does that sound good?"

Loki smiled weakly. "Yes. Sounds good."

()()()

"I don't know who you are," Loki said. He convulsed, like he was going to throw up. Blood ran out of his mouth, and he tried to stop it with his hand, but it ran between his fingers, down his neck, in a river down his chest.

"I'm Tony," Tony said. He grabbed Loki's hand.

He was holding on to nothing but blood.

Loki fell back against the wall, writhing as his skin melted away into a sluggish, crimson pool. He coughed up blood, choked on it. It came out of his eyes.

Then he was gone, and nothing was left but a puddle of blood. Tony fell to his knees in it, running his hands through it frantically to find _something_ but there was nothing but the stench and the emptiness and nothing, nothing at all.

()()()

He jolted awake out of his nightmare, panting, gasping for breath.

And immediately, he looked to the armchair, where Loki had been. But he was gone. _He was gone._ Panic rose up in Tony's throat, as he stumbled off the couch. His phone was ringing but he ignored it. "Jarvis? Where's Loki?"

**Mr. Odinson is in his room, sir.**

It didn't take long to find him. He was huddled in the corner, with that goddamn pillow. Tony sighed softly and knelt in front of him, which produced a horrible sense of deja vu. "Hey, Loki. S'just me. Just me. I won't hurt you. Do you remember the rules we made? I promised. I promised that I would never hurt you."

He held his breath, waiting for Loki's reaction.

Loki nodded. And slowly, but surely, he relaxed, and pushed the pillow away, holding his hands out for Tony to take. He did. "I remember," Loki said.

But for how long?

()()()

Tony was making eggs again. Loki was curled up in the armchair, staring vacantly at the wall.

Tony checked his phone.

It had been Pepper calling.

He grimaced. They had broken up, but she was still (used to be) his assistant and cared about him. What would she think about all this? From her point of view, it must seem like Tony was going insane.

She had left a message.

He glanced furtively at Loki. He didn't want to leave him alone. "I'll be back in a minute," he called to him. "That okay?"

Loki looked at him and nodded.

Tony gave the eggs a stir and left the room. He tapped on the message, and Pepper's voice began to drift into his ears, bringing with it a strange sense of homesickness.

"_Hey, Tony. I miss you." _

He could hear the slight tremble in her voice, giving away the emotions that were buried beneath the surface. She was probably pacing, relaying the message to Jarvis as she wrung her hands and focused on keeping the tears from her eyes. He wondered what color lipstick she was wearing, and what hairstyle. Did she have on high-heels?

Was she crying?

"_I know things aren't looking so good, and everyone's telling me to give up and start using your name as a curse, like they are. But I thought I'd call you anyway. I mean, I knew you wouldn't pick up. But I still want to talk to you, if you're even able to listen." _

Her voice hardened.

"_I hope you have a decent explanation. I really, really hope so. I know you've never been one for thinking things through before you act, but I also know that you've always tried to do the right thing. And they can tell me otherwise as much as they want, but dammit, I want to believe the best of you._

"_So if he's controlling you somehow, if he's making you do this, if _he's _the only one listening to this message and you're…"_ he could hear her sharp intake of breath. "_Then know that we will find you. If you need help, we will help you. And we will kill Loki for what he's done."_

Click.

She was gone.

Tony googled his own name. For once, it wasn't spurred by his narcissism. Because the titles that came up were… disconcerting, to say the least.

The media seemed to be split between labelling him a traitor and a victim. Tony didn't particularly care for either. But he scrolled down, through news site after news site, and everyone seemed to know that he had broken Loki out of SHIELD. And had threatened to kill Nick Fury.

Damn.

One title stood out to him.

"Avengers denounce Iron Man." It read.

He scrolled through the article. There was a video showing Steve sitting on a couch beneath bright lights, probably for an interview. He clicked on it and sat down on the couch to watch.

"We assembled to protect earth," Steve said, in response to the interviewer's question - do you still consider Tony Stark an Avenger? "We protected it from Loki. To set him free again, it's…" Steve's lips flattened. "It's unforgivable. No, no, I don't consider him an Avenger. That's not what we stand for."

"And how do you feel about his nickname? They're calling him the 'Iron Viper'," she said.

Tony didn't know whether to laugh, or… or something. He did nothing.

Steve was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Accurate." He laughed, although it was strained. "Accurate," he repeated, nodding his head.

"Shit," Tony said. He rubbed his eyes. He had just wanted to do the right thing. He never wanted to lose the only friends he had in the process…

"Tony?"

Tony paused the video.

Loki was standing hesitantly in the doorway. "The eggs are burning."

"Shit," Tony said, again. He stuffed the phone in his pocket, and started to rush past Loki, but Loki caught his wrist.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes searching.

Tony stopped.

"No. No, not really," he said, honestly.

Cautiously, Loki laced their hands together. He didn't meet Tony's eyes, instead, he looked at the ground. Tony saw him swallow. And magic flared up in their intertwined hands, rushing through Tony's body, making him shiver and hold his breath.

When it faded away, he would have felt empty, except Loki squeezed his hands and didn't let go, offering him a small smile.

Tony smiled back.

And realized that he was wrong.

He hadn't lost all of his friends, had he?

He had just lost the ones that weren't worth his time.

()()()

"Want some?" Tony asked, setting the plate on the arm of the chair Loki was sprawled in. The eggs were fluffy and cheesy, the bacon crispy and greasy. Tony had done his best to make it as delicious as possible in the hopes that Loki would eat.

Loki took the fork Tony offered him and eyed the food warily. "Thank you," he said, ignoring Tony's question. He didn't look like he wanted it.

Tony picked a piece of scrambled egg off of Loki's plate and popped it in his mouth. "Not poisoned," he said. He chewed and swallowed, and threw his arms up. "See?"

Loki just shook his head.

Tony frowned. He snapped off a piece of bacon, and ate it. "That's not poisoned either," he said. He pushed the plate towards Loki. "Just a little. Just eat a little."

Loki glared at him.

"Come _on_," Tony said. "You won't get better if you don't eat."

Loki jerked away, flattening himself against the chair. "Red," he choked out, pushing Tony's hand away. "Stop."

"I'm sorry," Tony said. "I'm sorry." He grabbed the plate and took it back into the kitchen.

He didn't know what he had done wrong, but now Loki was shivering and… sure, maybe he shouldn't have pressured him, but Loki hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday, and Tony wasn't about to let him starve himself. Tony cared about him too much.

And wasn't that crazy?

()()()

A few minutes later, Loki went outside.

Tony sat at the table, alternating between glancing out the window and scrolling through news sites. He didn't find any new information, he only got steadily angrier.

Loki seemed to be having the same problem.

But at least he wasn't being so destructive this time. He had taken two knives from the kitchen, and he was whirling through the air, stabbing imaginary attackers. It was impressive, the way he leaped and spun, almost like a dance. But Tony could see the power in the way he moved.

He started to throw them. Spin, throw, spin, throw. (Awkwardly walk over and yank them out of the tree.) Tony could imagine himself in place of the poor trees that Loki was cutting up - blood spilling out of his stomach. Why hadn't Loki used knives when he attacked New York? He was amazing with them, much more effective than he had been with that scepter.

Why hadn't he used any magic?

Tony looked back down at his phone.

Apparently, everybody - SHIELD, the military, even the Avengers - were actively searching for the "Iron Viper" and his deranged companion. Well, just because they _said_ that they were searching didn't mean they actually _were_, but Tony was glad for his tech nonetheless. It blocked all signs of magic both in the house and the surrounding area. This house was originally designed for hunkering down in complete secrecy - which meant that power fluctuations, sudden bursts of energy or electricity, and any other sign that Tony Stark could possibly be living here were hidden. Luckily, magic fell into one or another of those categories. At least, he hoped so, and it seemed to be the case since SHIELD hadn't found them yet. He hadn't really expected Loki to go outside and start blowing things up, like he did yesterday. They were both lucky that Tony had these precautions in place.

But they couldn't bet on luck forever. They would have to be more careful from now on.

_From now on._ What a strange sentence. Because, if he was honest, Tony didn't see himself leaving any time soon.

And he was fine with that.

For one thing, he had already gone too far. If he suddenly returned home and let SHIELD have Loki, it would be too late - everyone already seemed to hate him.

And he didn't know if he could handle the guilt.

Because if SHIELD got Loki, they would kill him.

Nope. No. That was _not _an option.

No, no, no. Never, ever, ever.

He glanced out the window again to see Loki wrench his knife out of a tree, before whirling and sending it hurtling towards another, aided by a bright flash of magic. They were like bullets, and Tony hoped that he never got on Loki's bad side.

And wasn't it strange that Loki was outside, with his magic loose, completely free to go, and yet he didn't. In fact, when he had burned out all his rage, or exhausted himself, which was the more likely option, he came trudging back to the door. He even opened it, stepped inside, and closed it behind himself, like a proper gentleman.

"Have fun?" Tony asked, leaning his elbow on the table, taking a sip of coffee. He put down his phone and opened his laptop, which was next to it. He really didn't have anything to do, so he plugged in his earbuds, stuck one in his ear, and pulled up another video - another interview with Steve. He hadn't found any interviews with any of the other Avengers, or with anyone else he gave a shit about. And the shit he gave about Steve was diminishing in size by the minute.

"_So_ much fun," Loki said. Tony glanced up. Loki was breathing hard, and grinning like a maniac. There was a light in his eyes. One that hadn't been there before.

"Figures that knife-throwing is your favorite pastime," Tony muttered, aimlessly opening a new tab. He typed his name into the search bar. The first two results were: _Tony Stark is the Iron Viper._ And: _Tony Stark is evil. _The next few were: _is with Loki, abducted by Loki, is being brainwashed by Loki._

"It is quite exhilarating, once you become skilled at it," Loki said. He was holding both of the knives in one hand, and he ran his finger over one of their blades. Tony narrowed his eyes. He knew Loki wouldn't throw a knife at him - did he know that? He _was relatively certain_, more like - but it still set him on edge (no pun intended, but appreciated nonetheless).

Loki must have noticed, because he grinned again. "Don't worry," he said, holding up the knives. "If I was going to kill you, I would find a much more creative way than this."

Tony snorted. "Yeah, cause chucking me out a fucking window was so creative."

Loki tensed, which was weird, because they had joked about this before. "It was effective enough," he said, his words strangely clipped. He looked down at his hand, and Tony saw a drop of blood on his finger, where it had run over the knife. He also saw Loki press his thumb to the wound, look back up, and not mention it.

"Need a bandaid?" Tony asked. The wound was small enough, but it was the _principle_ that irked him. Loki couldn't honestly believe that Tony hadn't seen it.

"No." Loki said.

"'Kay," he said, watching Loki set the knives down on the counter with a clatter, step into the kitchen, and open the fridge as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Tony held his breath, wondering if Loki was going to eat something.

He pulled out a milk carton, unscrewed the lid, and sniffed it. He screwed up his nose. "Why does your Midgardian food rot so easily? And why do you _keep_ it?"

Tony waved a hand at him. "Throw it away, then, if it means so much to you. I'm busy."

There was the sound of Loki tossing the milk carton in the trash, and then the weight of an extra pair of eyes peering at the computer screen. Tony closed it halfway so Loki couldn't see, and turned in his chair. "Can I help you?"

Loki was leaning over his shoulder, but drew away. "They know, don't they?"

"What?"

"I can see it in your face."

"_What?"_

"Well, that gave me an idea that something was wrong. But I also asked Jarvis."

"What? When?"

"Earlier," Loki said. He gave no further explanation.

Tony slumped down into his chair, and opened the computer again. "They're calling me the Iron Viper," he said, halfheartedly clicking to a news page for Loki to see.

And see he did. One of his hands gripping the top of the chair by Tony's head, the other on his hip, and he leaned in, so close that Tony could feel his breath on his neck. Jesus. He _had_ to stop doing that.

Loki's eyes moved as he read, his face completely serious, his posture rigid. Maybe the information was sensitive, and Loki shouldn't be reading it, but Tony didn't care. He had already gone too far - what was the harm in going farther? The world was going to shit anyway.

"Interesting," was what Loki said when he was done reading. He stepped away from Tony, went back to the fridge, took out a bottle of whisky, and drank. And drank. And _fuck_ he just kept drinking.

"What the hell are you doing?" Tony asked.

Loki set the half-empty bottle on the counter and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Asgardians have a higher alcohol tolerance than you Midgardians and your pathetic mortal bodies."

"Sheesh."

But maybe it would do Loki some good. You know, to numb everything.

Tony wondered what had brought that on. Surely, Loki didn't care about Tony's new nickname enough to spur him to drink half a bottle of whisky. Maybe it was because of his temper tantrum earlier. Or just… everything in general.

Probably.

Because when he pulled at his shirt to scratch his back, Tony could see the long, white scars from the whip. When the collar of his shirt fell down too far, there was the unmistakable bandage there, like a predator lying in wait for its prey.

It was impressive, that he could be standing casually in Tony's kitchen, talking as if nothing was wrong, as if nothing had happened. And how did he keep _doing_ that? If Tony couldn't see the scars, and if he didn't _know _about… everything, then he would never have guessed that Loki had been...

...tortured...

And would probably be giving him a nice repulsor blast to the face right now.

"I'm hungry," Loki announced. He held up an apple. "Can I have this?"

"Of course!" Tony cried, much too enthusiastically, unable to keep from smiling. Loki raised an eyebrow, and Tony quickly sorted his face into a less overjoyed expression, but he couldn't help but watch as Loki took a bite. And chewed it. And swallowed.

_Finally._

"I will go now," Loki said. "To my room."

"Yep," Tony said.

He watched him go, and even listened to the fading patter of his footsteps, only turning back to the computer screen once they had gone.

()()()

A week - had it been a week already? - away from home was doing him good.

It was like a vacation. And he hadn't been on a vacation in _years._

Before all this, he had been so _bored_. He had spent the year since the attack on New York fighting all sorts of try-hard, newbie supervillains, gangsters, and terrorists, and in between those fights, he had gone to meetings and built suits and hooked up with women, and a few men, who all managed, impressively, to be completely devoid of any personality. It was a lot of stuff to do, but it was all so goddamn boring.

Here, he wasn't fighting anyone (except for Loki when he forgot things and didn't recognize him, but that didn't count), he wasn't going to meetings or building suits or hooking up with anyone but he felt more alive than he had in a long time.

His life had gotten too predictable. That was it.

And here was the God of Chaos, taking his life and crumpling it up like it was a piece of paper. And burning the paper. And replacing it with a brand new one. But that was a _good_ thing. And even though he wasn't working, he somehow wasn't bored.

Because as soon as he was done typing aimlessly for about five minutes, he went to Loki's room, knocked on the door, and offered him a game of chess. They played, and it was _fun_. Then they watched a movie and they went outside and looked at the damage done to the trees, and Tony asked Loki to demonstrate his knife-throwing technique, which was a very, very bad idea but he didn't give a fuck and he was sick of good ideas because they were all so dull and boring and bland and goddamn how did he _survive_ before this? Loki obliged, put one of the knives in Tony's hand, and adjusted his grip on it. His fingers slid over Tony's hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, shifting the knife's angle, and the positions of his fingers on its blade.

Tony pulled his arm back and threw it. It hit the tree, bounced off, and fell into a pile of leaves. Beside him, Loki laughed, and threw his own knife. It landed with a _thunk_, embedding itself in the wood.

They stayed out there for about an hour, while Loki showed Tony how to make the knife actually land. He never got anywhere close to being as skilled as Loki was, but by the time they were done, he could actually land the knife in the tree. And it was fun.

They went inside, ate dinner (well, Tony gorged himself, while Loki only ate a bite or two), wandered around for a bit, then watched movies until midnight, when Tony announced that they should both go to bed.

He laid down on the couch, but Loki remained upright in the armchair, his fingers moving over his lip, his entire body tense.

Tony could already tell that the fun had come to an end.

"What's wrong? Aren't you gonna sleep?"

Loki shook his head.

Tony sat up. "What? Why? Is it…" the answer came to him easily. It was so obvious what Loki was thinking. After all, every time he slept, he woke up terrified and confused.

Tony left the couch in favor of crouching by the side of Loki's chair. "I get it," he said. "But you have to rest. You said it yourself - you won't heal unless your magic heals first, and your magic won't heal if you don't sleep. Right?"

Loki nodded slowly. "Yes. But… I could stay awake for just one night."

Tony sighed. "I don't think that's a good idea."

He felt like an asshole for saying it. But Loki had to heal.

Tony went back to the couch and laid down, and Loki laid down in his chair. The room was just bright enough that Tony could see Loki's closed eyes, and the rise and fall of his chest, that slowed as the minutes went on, until his entire body relaxed. His face did, too, showing none of the signs of stress that were usually so prominent.

Tony folded his arms and looked up at the ceiling.

Yeah, yeah, all of this was crazy. But even though he knew things were going to get bad again, inevitably, there wasn't a fraction of a chance that he was going to leave.

When he finally fell into sleep, it was dreamless.


	12. Chapter 12

It was a simple spell.

Easy, to creep unbidden into Tony's mind and steal away his nightmares.

And maybe Loki shouldn't have done it, but he needed to repay Tony in _some_ way. At least something. Despite how often he kept saying that Loki didn't owe him anything, Loki still felt like he was in debt. A very large one, at that. If Tony truly wasn't a Chitauri, and wasn't planning on hurting him, then Loki owed him his life.

But it wasn't like the nightmares just disappeared.

The scene was there, unfolding in the back of Loki's mind. Like he was daydreaming, and couldn't snap out of it. And as soon as he saw what Tony had been having nightmares about, he wanted to take them and shove them back in his skull.

Because Tony had been dreaming of him.

But in the worst way.

Dreaming of him bloody, and injured, and huddled pathetically in a corner, with all his memory gone… dying, again and again. Loki winced every time he heard his own miserable cries.

He shuddered when he heard himself beg.

And Loki would have been afraid that this meant Tony was having some sick fantasy about torturing him, if it weren't for the pure _terror_ that accompanied his dreams, and the desperation as Tony sank his hands into Loki's blood, up to the wrists, trying to find some part of him left. And it made sense - because when he had been tossing and turning in his sleep yesterday, it definitely hadn't been because he was seeing some depraved fantasy play out in his mind. Loki could see the fear in the way his eyes were squeezed shut, his breathing coming fast, how he jerked violently when Loki shook him awake.

But that didn't make the dreams any easier to bear.

Loki swallowed, slowly crept away from the armchair, slunk into the corner, put his arms up over his head and drew his knees to his chest, because it made him feel safe.

And there, Tony's nightmares played in his head, keeping him awake.

()()()

When Tony stirred, Loki quickly got back in the chair and curled up, pretending to be asleep. He was good at pretending, so it was no surprise when he heard Tony yawn as he walked right past him.

But apparently, pretending wouldn't be enough. Because after splashing some tap water on his face (at least, that's what it sounded like he was doing) Tony said, "Jarvis, did Loki sleep last night?"

Loki stiffened.

**No, sir. Loki did not sleep at all last night.**

"Is he asleep now?"

**No.**

Slowly, Loki raised his head and looked at Tony, feeling like a child caught in the act of stealing. Why did he feel guilty? Tony couldn't control whether he slept or not.

"I'm sorry," Loki said, automatically. "I'm sorry. I…" he trailed off, wrapping his arms around his chest. The Loki from Tony's nightmares echoed his words, and so did the real one from several weeks ago, curled up on the ground of the throne room and begging, begging, begging.

"Don't fucking be sorry," Tony snapped.

It was only a reflex that made Loki shrink back into the chair, but when Tony saw it, he seemed to deflate. "Don't be sorry," he repeated, softly, like Loki was an injured puppy. He walked over to him and instead of remaining standing, and towering over him, he crouched down so they were at eye level. "I told you, I get it. And I probably would have done the same thing. But it's not good for you."

And forgetting everything was? Thinking that Tony was a Chitauri who was going to hurt him, going to _rape_ him, was better than losing a night of sleep?

No. If Loki could, he would never sleep again.

How could Tony try to say that he understood? He couldn't understand unless he _felt_ it.

"This is no concern of yours," he said, summoning the courage to lean forward and glare directly into Tony's eyes.

"Yes, it is."

Loki's chest rose and fell quickly with a silent laugh. "Oh, so you _own_ me now? You control me? Let me tell you, you won't be the first."

He hadn't meant to say that.

Why did he say that?

Tony tensed, and his eyes filled with unmistakable _sadness_ and _concern_ and _pity,_ he even reached out for him as if to comfort him and Loki couldn't take it. He shoved Tony aside and stalked past him to the door. Green light was already flashing dangerously from his fingertips, and he had to take all this anger out on something.

"Loki. Wait."

He ignored him, whipping the door open so hard that the handle cracked against the wall.

"Wait!" Tony yelled, running to him and grabbing his wrist.

Loki yanked it away. His breaths were sharp. He drew away from Tony, fumbling for a grip on the edge of the counter, something to root him. And he eyed Tony suspiciously, never taking his eyes off him as he let out an angry huff of a breath, raising his eyes to the ceiling.

"You can't go outside yet. We have to talk. You remember the third rule, right?"

Loki stiffened. Was Tony mocking him? "Yes," he said, curtly. "I remember."

"Good. Come on then, let's sit down."

They sat down across from each other at the table. Tony folded his arms, and Loki balled his hands into fists, gritting his teeth.

Then Tony got up, and returned with a bottle of scotch. He poured a glass for himself, and one for Loki, with plenty of ice. Loki took it silently and downed the entire thing, reaching for the bottle and pouring himself some more

"Jesus," Tony muttered.

Then he sighed, and pressed his hands together against his chin, like he was praying. He let out a breath. "Okay. Um." He scratched his head, and leaned back in the chair, scrutinizing Loki like he was one of his precious pieces of metal, something broken that had to be pieced back together again.

"You have to take care of yourself," he said. "I'm not gonna let you just... " he waved his hand through the air, as if that was equivalent to finishing the sentence.

"And why would you care," Loki said, so flatly that it wasn't a question. He folded his arms, mimicking Tony's poze.

"Because I just do, all right?" Tony raised his voice, almost yelling. Loki didn't flinch, but Tony immediately sucked in a breath and lowered his voice again, as if Loki couldn't handle being shouted at (and he was probably right). "I care. I fucking _care_. I want you to get better, and that's only gonna happen if your magic recovers, which means you can't be sleep-deprived and _starving yourself_."

Loki stared at him, his mouth hanging slightly open. He closed it with a snap. "I am _not_," he said, voice low and dangerous. "Starving myself."

"Then why didn't you eat? You skipped two meals!" Tony's hands were clenched into fists, hovering over the table as if he was going to slam them down. "And I _know_ that you've been hiding food-"

Loki tensed.

"Jug was washing the sheets on your bed and he found a bunch of granola bars and apples which is _fine,_ you're allowed to take food into your room if you want to, but Jarvis told me that you haven't eaten any of that, either. You've barely eaten anything!"

"I haven't been hungry."

"It doesn't matter! You have to eat."

"Are you going to force me to?" Loki asked, aware that his voice had grown loud and high in pitch, bordering on hysterical. He made an effort to calm his breathing, to maintain some dignity. But there was no where to put his anger aside from in his voice.

So he stood up, and started to pace.

"That's not what I…"

"Are you?" he interrupted, whirling on Tony, who was still seated, his eyes following him. "Well? If I was starving myself, if I wasn't sleeping, if I forgot where I was and tried to kill you, what would you do about it?" he prowled around the table in circles. "It doesn't matter how much you _care_," he said the word like it was a curse, pouring all of his loathing into it. "This is hopeless."

He grabbed the knives off the counter, flung the door open and slammed it behind himself, like an angry child, before stalking down the hill. This time, he went out of sight of the doorway, not wanting Tony to know how angry he was, although it was probably fairly obvious.

Then he exploded a tree in half. And threw his knives at its sad carcass, magic aiding him, green flashes of light dancing on his fingertips.

He should stop doing this. Should stop using his magic to take out his anger. It would only make him heal slower.

But otherwise, he would take out his anger on Tony.

He had always been good at concealing his emotions, save anger. It always found a way to show itself. To hurt something. Like a monster.

_He_ was like a monster. _(Was a monster.)_

And he hadn't thought about it for a long time, not really. He had been _preoccupied._ But now, the memory came crashing back, of blue skin bathed in shadow, of red eyes mocking him, of that terrible knowledge that made him want to claw the skin from his chest.

And he would have. Would have, if he didn't know that it was hopeless. He couldn't get rid of the word, no more than he could get rid of what he was. And they were one and the same, weren't they? The burn on his chest. Whore. The blue of his skin. Monster. Creature. It was true. Everything Thanos and the Chitauri had said to him, had made him repeat. They hadn't… they hadn't been lying, had they?

And suddenly he was tempted.

So tempted.

To take the knife and turn it on himself.

The urge faded away quickly. Why would he want to do that? He had escaped Thanos - he had a life to live again, he had a chance to be something. To prove to them that he was something. Wasn't that what he'd always wanted? Power, power that would prove to them that he wasn't weak.

Oh, but… but he was so _stupid._

Had he forgotten? Had his memories fallen away from his mind again, because he wasn't even strong enough to hold them in place?

Did he forget how weak he was?

If he was given power, he would shrink away from it and have a panic attack, too afraid to pick it up and wield it.

Loki wanted to be angry, still. Wanted to take his magic and burn a raging trail through the valley.

But it was gone. He didn't know why, but his anger was gone, and he felt as empty as he had felt without his magic.

His shoulders slumped, his arms fell to his sides.

And he half-expected to feel a warm hand on his shoulder, to turn and look into Tony's deep brown eyes. The phantom-sensation made him whirl around instinctively. But it was just his mind playing tricks on him. There was no one there.

()()()

He ate nothing more than the apple.

It wasn't some sick satisfaction at seeing Tony so angry that made him deny his body's urge to eat. He just _couldn't. _He kept seeing the Chitauri, holding up the piece of red meat. "_Eat."_

And pain like fire.

Again, and again. Whenever they brought him food, he had never known whether it was going to be poisoned or not. And it all looked the same. It all _looked _and smelled and felt the same, so he had to try it, if he didn't want to starve to death. _He _had _to try it._

But now he didn't have to. He wasn't going to starve to death - if things got dangerous, he was sure he could force himself to eat. That was why he had stolen the food in the first place, so he would always have some available if his condition got worse. And yeah, the lack of food, the lack of energy was just another thing that was preventing his magic from growing strong enough to heal him. But he would rather be injured then have to eat.

He went to his room and began to read a book - one he had stolen from Tony's bookshelf. It was called Hamlet, and he liked it because the way it was written, and the way the characters spoke, reminded him of how books were written and how people spoke in Asgard.

He paused. Went to the window, opened it, and sent a small amount of magic to the flowers blooming in the valley. Their color became more vibrant, they grew larger, and healthier. And as the magic left Loki's body, he grew smaller, sicker. Loki did not smile at them. It was a habit, a routine. It felt right, but these weren't the same flowers.

Then he laid back down on his bed, lying on his stomach, and continued to read.

()()()

Tony knocked on the door, about an hour or two later (Loki had lost track of time).

"Lunch," he said.

Loki fought the urge to yell at him. He obviously didn't want it, and if he were to change his mind he was perfectly capable of getting his own lunch. But Tony probably thought him too weak to do that, too.

If he was being unfair, he didn't care. It felt good to be angry, because anger was much preferable to the other ways he had been feeling lately. Sad. Numb. Afraid. (Pathetic. Weak. Worthless.)

"You don't have to eat it. I brought it on principle," Tony said. "I'll leave it outside."

Loki didn't respond.

But once Tony's footsteps faded, Loki went to the door. He was curious as to what Tony had brought. Maybe there would be something there that wouldn't taste like nothing. He undeniably was hungry. He hoped he would find something that he could bear to eat.

It was Chinese.

And there was no red meat. Just fried rice and a fortune cookie.

Loki brought it into his room. He poked at the fried rice, but didn't eat any. He did, however, crack open the fortune cookie.

"_Change is happening in your life, so go with the flow!"_

He stared blankly at the paper. Why did that exclamation point annoy him so much? Before he even realized what he was doing, the paper was crumpled up in his hand, and a flame crackled into life in his palm, devouring it.

He clenched his fist, smothering the fire.

And he nibbled on the fortune cookie while he returned to his book and continued to read. Eventually, the whole cookie was gone. There was a lingering sweetness in his mouth, and he ran his tongue over his teeth. Maybe he should ask Tony for another…?

But he didn't want to face him after what had happened.

He kept humiliating himself in front of him, over and over and over. No matter what he did. If he was near Tony, something similar would happen again. A panic attack or a breakdown or he would forget something and Tony would look at him with pity in his eyes - there was a long list of things that could go wrong and Loki hated it.

He was tired.

He kept rereading the same line over and over. And each time he held the book tighter in his hands, going rigid, glaring at the pages.

Finally, he gave up. He prowled around his room instead, opened all the drawers and closets, looked out the window, went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth because even after so long, there was still the phantom-taste of days upon days of his mouth slowly rotting, that foul taste that made him shudder. And he could have used his magic to accomplish the same thing, but he liked to brush them.

It was so goddamn stupid.

He threw down the toothbrush with a hiss, and used his magic to clean his teeth.

Then he raised his eyes to the mirror.

He looked haggard. And thin. And beaten down. He raised the hem of his shirt, turning just enough to see a bit of his back and… quickly, he lowered it again. When he pulled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, he could see the old, nearly faded bruises dotting his arms.

His magic wasn't strong enough to heal him yet. Healing magic was difficult, took so much energy. And it didn't help that Loki kept wasting all his magic's energy by exploding things, and by using it to keep himself from dying of starvation or sleep-deprivation. No, his magic wasn't even strong enough to heal a bruise.

But it was definitely strong enough to produce a glamour. He had been doing it since he was an infant. He was an _expert._

And so what if creating a glamour exhausted his magic even further? It would grow again, in time. He would just have to stop exploding trees. And it would be worth it, because the bags under his eyes and the scars and the bruises and - oh, and that horrible, hideous burn on his chest - would all be _gone_.

He didn't hesitate.

And this glamour was easy, it was one he had done many times before, restoring himself back to health. Almost as easy as pasting white skin over blue.

The bruises were blotted out. The scars disappeared. When he lifted his shirt again, he could no longer see his ribs. His back was undamaged.

His chest. His chest was unmarked. _He_ was unmarked.

But this wouldn't work. Tony would realize. Surely, he would realize what Loki had done.

Reluctantly, he brought all of his injuries back. And shuddered as he traced the line of a scar, snaking up over his collarbone. He smeared the bruise-like bags beneath his eyes again.

He allowed himself to shrink, once again, in on himself, ribs and collarbone jutting out, the lines of his bones so pronounced. His clothes hung off of him. He looked like a bundle of sticks and he was glad that he wasn't wearing his old armor for he wasn't sure what he would do if he saw how oversized it would be for him now…

He looked frail and withered and dying. And _ugly _and _wrong._

But not for long. Not for long.

()()()

He didn't sleep the next night. But he wiped away the bags from his eyes, and the strain from his face. And when Tony eyed him suspiciously and asked Jarvis if he had slept, it was easy to influence his mind just enough to change the words. To change a "No," to a "Yes."

He knew Tony would hate him for that. He wouldn't like to know that Loki had been poking around in his head. But it would be better for both of them. Loki wouldn't forget, and Tony wouldn't have nightmares. They would both be happier.

Over the next few days, he slowly added more weight to his glamour, more flesh to its bones, more color to its cheeks. He didn't eat much in Tony's presence, but he told him that he was eating when they weren't together, and Tony believed him. The proof was right there on his body.

And Tony seemed happier now that he thought that Loki was sleeping and eating, and Loki had to repay him _somehow_, so he should do whatever he could to make him happy. It was the least, the very least, he could do. He had been stupid to be angry at him - like an immature child having a tantrum. It had done nothing good for either of them.

But it was easy to pretend like everything was fine. That was always easy. He joked with Tony, he taught him more about magic, he played chess with him. He… he liked Tony's company. Tony was distracting, always waving his hands around and rambling like his life depended on it. And whenever Loki panicked over some stupid thing, or forgot something - because even though he wasn't sleeping, his useless mind still couldn't work right - Tony would take his hand and help him to breathe, or gently remind him of the thing he had forgotten.

It was humiliating, of course.

But he didn't protest.

But he despised how disgustingly _dependent_ he was. Loki couldn't survive on his own. He would have been killed by SHIELD, of course, but even if not, he would probably be eternally huddled in some dirty corner, crying his eyes out. He couldn't even survive on his own, which was something he used to be an expert at.

He wanted to fix that. He wanted to leave again, wanted to go find a place for himself, to prove that he could. But if he left, SHIELD would find him. He was stuck here.

He could have overpowered Tony. Could have used that as a way to prove how strong he was.

But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he disregarded it with a grimace.

So he was trapped again.

Just another cell.

Although this one was comfortable, and less painful, and had much better company.

But he still found himself wandering outside more often, not going far because Tony told him that if he did, SHIELD would be able to track his magic again. He walked around the house in circles, over the hills and through the trees and beside a sluggishly moving river. There were a few frogs there, and once he caught one and cupped it in his hands. He slit its throat with his magic, and watched as its body fell limp, blood pooling in the lines of his hands. He didn't know why he had done that.

When he was angry, he would practice with his knives. Often, Tony would give him a few minutes to calm down, then he would join him, and Loki would teach him. Tony wasn't skilled, but he was stubborn, and he _was_ learning, albeit very slowly.

Loki liked to teach him how to wield a knife. Because he would touch his hand to adjust his grip, and he never even felt the urge to draw away. The same applied when Loki was panicking, or even if they were just sitting on the couch sometimes, and Tony would take his hand. Loki never flinched, or even felt compelled to.

Perhaps because the Chitauri had never done anything like that.

But Tony did.

Even though Loki was so pathetic, so _broken_, Tony would still hold his hand.

And Loki may not feel the urge to flinch, but he did feel the urge to let go. Because he knew Tony wouldn't touch him if he knew what he was.

But he didn't let go.

He held on.

()()()

"You know what?" Tony said, one day as he was typing on his laptop. He shut it and stood up from the couch they had both been sitting in, and turned on his heel to stand in front of Loki. "We should go somewhere."

Loki crossed his arms, raised an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, we're close to Montreal. We could walk around? I looked up stuff to do. And I could take you on a tour!" he cried, leaning back and folding his arms to mimic Loki's posture. "Please. Let me. Please."

Loki scratched his head. "Only if you stop acting like an overexcited puppy."

Tony deadpanned. "Got it."

They put on their hats and sunglasses, and Tony gave Loki a leather jacket to wear because apparently his sweatshirt wasn't stylish enough, and hey, last time they met he was all about leather.

They squinted as they left through the too-bright hallway, but in contrast, outside it was dark and stormy. Probably not the best weather to be doing this. But Loki didn't mind.

"No using your magic, remember," Tony warned him. "SHIELD'll find us before you can say 'Hocus Pocus'."

They got in Tony's car and sped away.

()()()

Loki had slept a few times, accidentally, in the past week or so. But he had never slept for long, and each time he woke up more or less with his memory intact.

However, the motion of the car was soothing, and Tony had cranked the heat up just enough to leave a pleasant warmth on Loki's skin. He curled up in his seat and slept for the entire two hours.

When he woke up it was to someone shaking him. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Wake up; we're here."

He jolted awake, and quickly pressed himself against the armrest, staring wide-eyed at… Tony Stark?

Tony visibly swallowed, looking down. Then he reached out and took hold of Loki's hand, ever-so-gently. And Loki knew that the Chitauri would never have done anything like that.

In only a few minutes, he had calmed down.

"Why are we in the car?" he asked.

"We're going to Montreal," Tony said, softy, still not meeting his eyes. "I'm taking you on a tour."

"Oh," Loki said, staring blankly out the window. They were parked in front of a row of red trees. "Okay."

He shouldn't have fallen asleep.

But he wouldn't make that mistake again.


	13. Chapter 13

Wow. That drive sucked. _So_ much traffic, and Loki just had to go and nod off, so Tony couldn't even talk to him to entertain himself. But he wasn't about to wake him up.

It was some weird mountain, and there was supposed to be a road to walk on, and a beautiful view at the top. It was called the "Mont Royal" (which he suspected was a weird French pun on 'Montreal'), and it was the first thing Tony found when he looked up stuff to do. But they were parked in this random parking lot, and he could see the mountain, but no road.

They got out and he spoke to the first person he saw: a lady with really big sunglasses, spiky hair, and a purse hanging from her arm. "Hey. Which way to the Mont Royal?"

She pointed in a random direction and started jibbering in French.

"Oh. Uh. I don't speak French," Tony tried, waving his hands through the air to tell her to shut up.

But then Loki joined them, and started spewing the language, and he was having a fucking conversation with that lady and all Tony could do was stare and think, _Loki speaks French? What the fuck?_

Loki said something, and then they both laughed, of course, because apparently now he was a comedian. He bowed slightly to her as she walked away, and she giggled and smiled at him before glancing at Tony, and _glaring_ at him, and walking away.

"What the fuck," Tony said. He turned towards Loki, who was grinning mischievously, watching her go. "You speak French? And did you just flirt with a random French woman?"

"No need to be so jealous," Loki said, amusement clear in his voice. His grin grew when he looked at Tony's face. "Oh, you should see yourself."

Well, it was no surprise that Tony looked a little shocked. Loki had just accused him of being jealous that he was hitting it off with a random girl in Quebec. And he could _speak French? _But Tony quickly deadpanned, crossed his arms, and lowered his sunglasses just enough to let Loki see his eyes and his raised eyebrow. "I'm just surprised you would go after a middle-aged French woman with atrocious hair - didn't think that your type. But hey." He shrugged. "Who am I to judge."

"Indeed," Loki said, with a small smirk, before turning on his heel and stalking away. "This way!" he called out, pointing.

They walked for a few blocks, and Tony grew increasingly nervous that they were going to be recognized, but luckily, everyone were as oblivious in this city as they were in good 'ol New York.

The Mont Royal was crowded with people, but Loki walked on the very edge of the road, and Tony walked on his left, doing his best to shield him from everyone. But Loki still seemed to be nervous anyway, crossing his arms tightly, eyes darting around.

Tony held his hand up for Loki to take.

And Loki stared at him.

"Go on," Tony said. "S'fine. No one here gives a shit."

So Loki took his hand, and they walked the Mont Royal, so close to each other that their shoulders brushed.

It was beautiful. At the top, they could see the city sprawled out before them - skyscrapers reaching up to the sky, roads cluttered with traffic, red and yellow trees popping out in bursts of color. It fell away into a river that ran off into the horizon. The air was frigid and fresh, almost reminding Tony of the feeling of magic coursing through his body.

Tony took out his phone and took a picture.

And when he looked and saw Loki - brow slightly furrowed, god-awful haircut falling messily away from the baseball cap he was wearing, with the city reflected in the thin-rimmed aviator sunglasses that weren't dark enough to completely obscure his eyes - Tony wanted to take a picture of him. Even of the fading bruises that bloomed on his jawbone, and his cheek, yellow and green on the edges. Even those.

Loki looked back at him.

And Tony was hyper-aware of the warmth of his hand.

And this was ridiculous. Loki had attacked New York, he had killed people, he had thrown Tony out a window!

But somehow, all that anger that he should have felt was nowhere to be found. It had been missing for a long time, hadn't it? Had it gone sometime this past week, perhaps, while they were watching a movie or eating together? Maybe one of the times Loki forgot something, or had a panic attack, and Tony felt a familiar pang of sympathy, of _caring_ in his chest? Even when Tony discovered that Loki wasn't sleeping, all because he wanted so badly to hold onto his memories?

Or had it fled from him at that very first moment, in the SHIELD cell, when he caught sight of that familiar figure huddled in the corner, bruised and bleeding and panicking at the mere sight of him?

Loki squeezed his hand and pointed upwards, at two hawks that were circling through the sky, screeching and slashing at each other with their talons. Tony glanced at them, but was much more captivating by the awe in Loki's eyes, and the smile on his face that couldn't be anything but genuine.

Then someone grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and slammed a fist into the side of his head with a force that sent him reeling back into Loki. He coughed and sputtered and flailed, lashing out vaguely at the place where his attacker had been.

Loki lowered him gently on the ground, and Tony watched, head spinning, as he pounced like a cat and shoved the person to the ground, landing elegantly on top of them, practically straddling them except his knee was shoved in their stomach, and Tony didn't think anyone wanted to be straddled that way. Loki wrapped his hands around their neck and started to squeeze.

Fuck fuck fuck.

People started screaming and running away, leaving a wide circle with just Loki and Tony's attacker in the middle of it. But then someone came out of the crowd, yelling something in French and brandishing a gun and _shit_, it was a policeman.

And wouldn't that be hilarious if Loki, a fucking Norse god with magical superpowers, got arrested by a normal human policeman and put in a normal earth prison? It was such a weird thought.

But Tony quickly stopped thinking it, because now the policeman and a few other random burly men who thought it was their place to break up Canadian attacker vs. Norse god fights were approaching Loki. Tony could clearly see the panic in his eyes, which was never a good thing when it came to Loki and explosive magical powers.

Loki stood up, with a green light building around his hands, and Tony barely had time to scramble away, screaming at everyone to get the fuck out of there, when everything erupted in a green that was too bright to be real, burning that brightness onto the inside of his eyelids. It sounded like a crack of thunder. He felt a strong wind, a gust that made him shiver because it was so cold. And when it was all gone, there was a crater in the road, and the figures of the four men who had been thrown away by it. They were all lying on the ground, and they were all disturbingly still.

Tony didn't think. He pressed down on the bracelets he always wore, and the metal of his suit folded over his skin.

And now everyone was screaming even louder.

He grimaced.

And his feet left the ground in a flare of fire. He swooped down, grabbed Loki, and rose back up again, soaring over the city. Holding Loki tightly to his chest.

And now they had to get the fuck out of Montreal. There wouldn't even be time to go back to the house and get their stuff. But how was he supposed to land without everyone seeing him? The suit wasn't exactly inconspicuous.

Shit, shit, shit, he was such an idiot - should have worn a better disguise, should have known someone would recognize him, should have known should have known should have-

"Jarvis," he said. "Nearest safe house. Where no one can find us."

**The nearest uncompromised safe house is on the Yucatan Peninsula. There is another in Alaska. The rest would be inadvisable to travel to in this situation.**

Shit. Both of those were so far away. How the hell were they going to get there without being discovered?

"Tony!" he heard Loki yell. Tony looked to what Loki was pointing at.

Shit.

A quinjet. A fucking quinjet was soaring through the sky like the ugliest bird Tony had ever seen.

He dove to the side, swooped down over the river, picked a random direction and flew in it.

Lightning cracked through the sky, and Tony saw Loki stiffen in his arms. He also saw Loki press his hand to Tony's chest.

"Jarvis. Get me a map of the surrounding area."

It came up in a bright mess of muddled up lines, and he had to alternate between looking at the map and focusing on where he was flying, which was annoying. But they were quickly nearing the edge of the city. Oh, and the quinjet was following them.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

How the hell had they gotten here so quickly?

But he had forgotten how stalkerish and creepy SHIELD was. They had bases all over the fucking world - of course they would happen to have one thirty fucking seconds from where Tony and Loki had been trying to enjoy a nice fucking day in the city before that motherfucker clocked him in the nose.

Why had he ever thought that leaving the house was a good idea? He was the Iron Viper now, and Loki was _Loki_, and they were both in the news and everyone was searching for them - and people were paranoid, because in their minds, ex-super heroes and crazed super villains hanging out together was never a good combination (although, strangely, it seemed that it was a very nice combination).

But he would have time to feel guilty later.

"Jarvis," he said. He forgot what he had been about to say next, because the quinjet started shooting at them.

He wrapped his arms around Loki, hugging him to his chest, trying to shield him. Loki's eyes were wide and scared, his chest heaving frantically.

"Don't worry," he said, hoping that Loki would be able to catch the attempt at a comforting tone, although he knew his words would come out robotic and emotionless. "They're incompetent. There's no way that their bulky quinjet will be a match for this elegant beauty I'm wearing."

He couldn't tell if his words had had any effect.

And anyway, now he was swerving to avoid the bullets that kept hitting him. He hunched closer to Loki, trying to protect him, but he could feel Loki stiffen in his grasp, could see blood flowing from his arm, although he didn't make a sound.

And Tony was not going to stand for that.

He reached back and fired a repulsor blast at the quinjet. And another. And another.

The thing gave a scream of agony, and started to smoke, giving a final shudder before spiraling downwards. He stopped flying to watch its descent - like a drunk bird trying to land. It fell into the water with a crash. He wondered if everyone within had died.

"Hold on," he said.

Loki wrapped his arms around his neck. And Tony supported him with an arm around his waist.

Then he took off again, in a burst of fire. Away from the city. And soon after, they were out of that entire fucking country, soaring recklessly over the ocean.

**Sir. It is inadvisable to try to reach Mexico via your suit. Power levels are at fifty percent.**

"Fine!" Tony yelled.

Loki was clearly startled by his outburst, but Tony was so on edge that he couldn't bring himself to care. He kept glancing over his shoulder, searching for a quinjet even though Jarvis's map was clearly showing him that no one was following them.

And now what the hell were they supposed to do? How would they get to Mexico?

"Tony!" Loki shrieked. "_Tony!"_

There was a red dot approaching on the map. Approaching much too quickly for comfort. Tony glanced back, and a burst of crackling lightning burned itself onto his retinas.

"Hold on," he said, going into a sharp dive. He twisted in midair, throwing out his hand and shooting, but he couldn't see anything but the lightning that was still coming after them, writhing, dancing in the air.

Loki threw his arms out, and Tony yelled at him not to use his magic, but an explosion of green burst to life in front of them anyway. Loki's magic crackled with silver lightning. Everything was noise and electricity and power, floating there ahead of him. He allowed himself to fall, down and far and away from it all, clutching Loki closely to his chest.

Then Thor broke through that madness, his eyes white, his hammer held high above his head. He brought it down with a _crack_ that echoed through Tony's very bones. Lightning was flung from it in a writhing, forked tongue, hissing as it flew to devour them. All he could do was watch as Loki thrashed in his grip, letting his magic loose with a scream.

And Tony might have been screaming too, because this didn't feel like a wind. This felt like a hurricane.

Everything exploded again in a burst of energy and light. Tony was too dazed to even move.

Loki fell back into Tony's arms. Limp and still like a corpse.

Thor's hammer was heading straight towards them, about to smash into Loki's chest, and at the last moment Tony turned in midair so it struck him in the back. But that didn't prevent Thor's hand from clamping down on his shoulders, or the hammer from turning around in midair and hurtling back to land with a clang in Thor's hand.

And just as the ocean was rising up to meet them, Thor spun his hammer, creating a ring of bright whirling light, and they took off back into the sky.

()()()

Thor took them to a deserted strip of beach somewhere, dropping them down in the sand. He was saying something, but Tony ignored him, instead lowering his face plate to shout in a high and panicked voice, "Loki! Loki! Can you hear me?" He laid Loki down in the sand with shaking hands, reaching out to touch his face before Thor grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

"I need you to…"

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?" Tony cried, quickly becoming hysterical. He could feel his hands shaking. Without pausing to think, he let his suit peel away from him so he could hunch over Loki, so he could feel him, looking desperately for some sign that he was alive.

He was breathing. His chest was rising and falling.

Tony let out a sigh of relief, but it was so shaky that it sounded like he was hyperventilating. He rubbed his palms over his face, feeling like he was about to throw up.

Then Thor crouched down in front of him, holding his hammer up threateningly. "You will tell me what my brother did to you. He is unconscious; you don't have to be afraid that he will hurt you. Tell me, and I can help you."

Tony stared at him, unable to process what he was saying. "No. No, no, shut the fuck up. He's… you just hit us with _lightning_… what the hell is wrong with you?" He would have gotten to his feet and backed away, if it weren't for Loki, who was lying there so quietly, unresponding, so quiet and still…

Tony leaned down, gently touching his face. "Loki. Loki! It's me, it's Tony, I'm right here…"

Thor reached down to touch Loki.

And Tony shoved his hand away, "Don't you fucking touch him!" He scooted backwards, his feet scrabbling for a hold in the sand, pulling Loki along, hugging him to his chest. He eyed his unfolded suit regretfully; he shouldn't have taken it off. But it hadn't done much good against Thor anyway.

"Tony. You don't have to protect him. I will _help_ you," Thor said, sounding like he was talking to a child. He reached out a hand in the same placating gesture Tony had used for Loki, so many times.

Tony stared at him. How were they going to get away from Thor? He didn't know how far away SHIELD was, but it couldn't be long before they got here… and this time, there was no chance that Tony would be able to get Loki out of there.

Then Loki groaned, twisting in his grip, hands going to where Tony was holding him so tightly.

Instantly, Tony was saying his name, over and over again, and pulling him even closer to his chest, despite Loki's feeble attempts to get away. Thor was eyeing them warily, and Tony hated that he probably thought Tony was only doing this out of fear, not because he actually cared.

But when Loki caught sight of Thor, everything fell apart.

He writhed in Tony's grip, kicking and punching, and a fist caught Tony in the jaw. Tony hunched over him, trying to soothe him, but when Loki looked into his eyes there was nothing there but fear.

His gaze snapped back to Thor, and he was kicking at the sand, trying to back away. He was speaking wildly in that other language that Tony didn't know, but his voice was thin, trembling, desperate. He was pleading.

Green energy built up around him, and Tony held him tighter in a futile attempt to keep him from teleporting but the energy built upwards and upwards until… nothing.

It built up again, spiraling higher. Nothing.

And Loki kept trying to teleport, over and over, thrashing in Tony's grip, all while his terrified eyes were locked onto Thor. "I can't," Tony heard him say. "Don't make me. _Please_." That was all he managed to speak in English before babbling in that other tongue again.

Thor, who was standing now, stared down at him and tentatively reached out before pulling his hand back again. "What's wrong with him?"

But Loki seemed to be calming down now. His eyes were blank instead of scared, his breathing was quickly evening out. He had stopped struggling.

So, slowly, Tony lessened his grip. And slowly, he let him go.

Loki wrapped his arms around his chest. Silent tears were streaming down his face. But still, he managed to get into a kneeling position in front of Thor, much too close for comfort, watering eyes full of dread, and in between painful, heart-wrenching sobs, he started to reach for Thor's belt buckle.

"What is he doing?" Thor asked, jumping backwards.

Tony grabbed Loki's hand, gently, and turned his head so he was looking away from Thor. But it was too easy. Too easy to move him, to turn his head, as if he was just a collection of body parts instead of a person, pliable and pushable. "Hey," he said. "Hey, Lokes, you don't… you don't have to do that."

"Tony," Loki said, more like he was letting out a breath than saying a word.

"Yes. Yes!" Tony said, taking both of his hands and holding them tightly. "It's me. It's just me. No one's gonna hurt you, no one's gonna make you do anything you don't want to do."

But Loki's eyes hardened, his jaw clenched, his breaths came sharply. "_Ég vissi að þú værir lygari!" _he shouted, harshly, wrenching his hands away from Tony. "_Ég vissi að þú værir ekki raunverulegur!"_

Tony held his hands up, although he knew the gesture wouldn't have the desired effect. "What's he saying?" he demanded to Thor.

Thor stared back at him, wide-eyed. "He says… he says he knew you were a liar. And that he knew you weren't real."


	14. Chapter 14

_Well, Thor is here now… I guess. Being awkward._

_And Loki had some serious self-esteem issues, and a tendency to throw temper tantrums, and a hell of a lot of pent-up anger. And he still can't quite figure out why Tony would bother to care about him - poor guy._

_So that's fun._

()()()

"What?" Tony asked, even though he should have already known.

That first night in Minnesota. Loki's nightmare hadn't been just a nightmare, had it?

_Just like last time. When you pretended to be Thor._

Tony wished that he didn't know what that meant. What all of this meant. But it wasn't like it was difficult to fill in the blanks.

No one answered him. Thor was clueless, of course, but Loki… Loki didn't look like he was in any condition to string coherent sentences together. He was huddled there, shaking and shivering with silent tears streaming down his face, but that wasn't the scariest thing.

He was gone.

Just gone.

Every time before when Loki had been having a panic attack, there had still been that _rage_ hidden in his eyes. The flexing of his fingers, the sharp intake of breath, hating his condition and doing everything he could to come out of it.

But this time, there was nothing.

Other than the terror, that is.

And Tony didn't know what to do. He wanted desperately to comfort him in some way, to speak to him - although he wasn't sure that Loki would even hear him. He wanted to take his hand, no, he wanted to hug him, but that would only scare him.

"You're his brother," Tony snapped at Thor, deciding to let the decision fall to someone else. "Do something!"

But Thor seemed just as lost as he was.

And that was when the SHIELD helicopter appeared beyond the line of trees, with a loud, stuttered drone assaulting Tony's ears and several guns pointed out of its windows, aimed down at them.

And Thor - thank God - finally did something.

He grabbed Loki and Tony with one arm, and swung his hammer with the other, shooting off into the sky.

()()()

With some directions from Tony, they were able to find their way to his safe house in Mexico. And it was actually really fucking cool - disguised as a old storage facility, all tin and solid, boring blue, but the roof flipped up into a swanky deck surrounded by solar panels. He must have been in one of his philanthropist moods when he built it, back in the day when he had given a damn about global warming.

But he wasn't in the mood to appreciate it.

They tramped inside, Thor pulling them along with a meaty hand on both of their arms, and a very grim expression on his face. Loki was somehow crying while simultaneously looking unsettlingly expressionless, like a zombie. Tony was just freaking out.

It was actually nice to have Thor holding his arm. Tony wasn't sure that he could have managed to walk otherwise.

Tony directed them to the hospital wing, which was smaller in this safe house but that didn't really matter because there was still only one patient - although by the time this was over, Tony should probably get himself checked into a psychiatric ward and stay there for a long fucking while - and Tony pulled his arm away from Thor so he could help him gently push Loki down into a sitting position on the edge of one of the beds.

If Loki was scared of Tony, he was obviously terrified of Thor. He hadn't taken his eyes off of him once.

"Um... sorry, bud," Tony began, glancing at Thor, not sure how to breach the subject.

"I know," Thor said, surprising him. He looked solemn, even serious, which was not a look Tony was used to seeing on his face. "I'll go."

And he left.

Well, that was easy.

Tony knew that Loki would probably feel safer if he was gone, too, but he... fuck, he didn't want to leave him here all alone.

He crouched down, a few feet from the bed Loki was sitting in, and covered his face with his hands. So he wouldn't have to see the way Loki was looking at him. So he could pretend not to notice that Loki wasn't just terrified of Thor, he was terrified of Tony right now, too.

They had… they had been having so much _fun._ Loki had been smiling, he had been _happy._

Tony wanted to cross over to the bed and grab him and _shake_ him until he remembered.

**Given his current condition, I think it would be advisable to leave Mr. Odinson alone.**

Tony peeked through his fingers, sighed, and lowered his hands. "I'll come back," he promised. _No, that probably wasn't the best thing to say. _"You're safe," Tony said. "You're safe. No one will hurt you. I won't _let_ anyone hurt you."

When Loki heard his words, his eyes widened, and Tony swore he got even worse.

He remembered that first day, when Loki had started panicking, forcing Tony to drug him to make him go to sleep so he could fix his injuries. He had only started panicking _after_ Tony promised he wouldn't hurt him.

(No time to figure that out now. Just get the hell out already, you're just making everything worse.)

So he did. He left Loki alone. For the second time, he left him to panic on his own.

()()()

Unsurprisingly, he was met with a violent barrage of questions, accompanied by the lingering threat of the hammer in Thor's hand, which was pointed at his head.

And Tony did he best to answer, all while saving Loki as much dignity as he possibly could - not that Tony thought any of Loki's reactions to what had been done to him had lost him dignity, but he thought Loki might feel that way. He told Thor how he had broken Loki out of the SHIELD cell - although Thor had already known that - and when Thor asked him why, Tony simply said that it was the right thing to do.

He skimmed through their subsequent misadventures, leaving out the panic attacks, memory lapses, eating problems, sleep deprivation, all that lovely stuff. If Loki wanted Thor to know, then he could tell him himself. Thor listened gravely, his expression unchanging, his grip on his hammer unwavering, which Tony did not appreciate.

And really, when he left out all the shitty parts, it was a very sparse story. Not much substance to it.

And he hated that.

"But what happened back on the beach?" Thor asked, hesitantly. "Has he been like that before? I mean... what's wrong with him? He isn't usually..." Thor trailed off, which Tony didn't remember him ever doing before, and waved his hammer through the air, very nearly missing Tony's nose.

"Nothing's _wrong _with him," Tony said, remembering his own panic attacks.

"Yes, there is," Thor said, indignantly, as if he thought Tony was insulting him. "Do you think I didn't notice? It was fairly obvious," he ended the word with a laugh so out of place that it might as well have been a red dress at a funeral.

Tony crossed his arms. This was so fucking uncomfortable, and it was bringing up many traumatic memories that he would rather push down, down, down into the deepest part of his mind, somewhere.

"Let's sit down," he said. "I'll pour us a drink."

It wasn't whiskey, because felt wrong to share that drink with someone other than Loki. As if, in the short time that he was gone, Tony had already replaced him with someone else. So instead he got them both bottles of beer, and Thor, unsurprisingly, downed his in about three gulps, which took about five seconds.

"Jesus," Tony said, flatly. He didn't elaborate.

Thor set the bottle down with a glimmer of humor in his eyes that quickly disappeared when Tony braced himself and said, "He was tortured, Thor."

And damn, if that didn't bring down the mood from frosty to frozen-absolutely-fucking-solid.

Thor's grip tightened on the beer bottle he was still holding, and his eyes went back and forth, searching Tony's face. Then, against all the odds - actually, against everything that had ever, or would ever, make a lick of sense, he broke into a smile, and awkward laughter. "No. No, you're lying. Not my brother. He couldn't..." and just as soon, his smile and his laughter disappeared, probably because of the look on Tony's face. "He wasn't...? Stark, how could..." he pressed a hand to the side of his face, his eyes going to the bottle in his hand. "No, no, not my brother."

"I'm sorry," Tony said. He wasn't sure if that was the right thing to say, but at least it was something.

He had assumed that Thor would have already figured it out. After all, after witnessing such a drastic change in his brother, shouldn't it have been evident what happened? It had been to Tony, and he had barely known Loki at the time.

But no, apparently not. And Tony was unfortunately able to witness a multitude of terrible emotions crossing Thor's face - grief, regret, anger, sadness, pity. Then back to regret, and the vicious cycle started all over again.

What had Loki seen in Tony's face, when he first told him what happened? It was a strange thought.

And how was Loki now? What was he doing? Was he getting any better, was he remembering things, or did he think that Tony was... was some creature, one of those Chitauri? Was that what Thanos had done to him - plastered Thor's body on one of those monsters, and tricked Loki into thinking that his brother had come to save him? But, if Loki's reaction was anything to go by, it had tortured and probably raped him instead.

It was sick.

It was _sick._

Tony clenched his fists, overcome with a wave of anger so intense that it surprised even him.

Thor had dropped his head into his hands, but now he glanced up. "But why was he so afraid of _me_?" he asked.

Tony looked up at the ceiling, and hesitated for what was probably a suspiciously long moment before saying, "I'm sure he just wasn't expecting to see you. After all, the only person he's been around for the last week has been me."

Thor buried his face in his hands again. "Aye," he said, sounding miserable.

And it was harder to guess at the source of this new distress, but Tony figured it out after a couple of seconds. He reached across the table and put a hand on Thor's shoulder, which prompted Thor to peek out through his fingers at Tony. "It's not your fault that you weren't there," Tony said. "How could you have known? I'm sure he won't blame you for not knowing."

"But I should have been there," Thor said, taking his hands down from his face and clenching them into fists on the table. Tony crossed his arms again - probably as some kind of coping mechanism, but he didn't care. "I'm his brother. I'm supposed to be there for him."

"You are now."

Their eyes met.

Thor looked away first.

Then Tony stood up. Thor's eyes snapped back to his. And Tony smiled sadly, sticking his hands in his pockets because he was unsure what to do with them. "I think we've left him on his own long enough. Should we go see him?"

He didn't know if that was the right thing to do. Should they leave Loki alone longer? Should they have left him alone at all?

But Thor nodded in response, and they both headed back to the hospital room anyway.

()()()

Tony went in first. Thor was obviously reluctant to allow this, but he agreed without arguing or complaining.

Before going in, Tony asked Jarvis about Loki's condition. Jarvis told him that Loki was huddled up in the corner. Which Tony had expected, but he still _hated_ it, because that wasn't how Loki should be.

He remembered the warmth of Loki's hand in his as they walked the Mont Royal, in those precious few moments before he got punched in the face and everything spiraled out of control. Loki was still in there somewhere. They could get him back.

So Tony looked back at Thor, who met his gaze unflinchingly and offered him a small, curt nod. Then he opened the door and slipped inside.

The room was a disaster. Everything was scorched to black, everything was thrown to the ground and in pieces. All of the mirrors were shattered, shards littering the ground like crystals. The carpet crunched when he stepped on it. It looked like a fiery hurricane had been through here, and Tony barely recognized the room.

Something exploded in the ceiling. Tony jumped to the right just in time, as a piece of the ceiling came crashing down, followed by a cloud of sawdust that made him cough. The air whipped past his face, too fast for this room - it felt like he was driving down the freeway without a windshield. Magic?

And when he heard the little whimper coming from the corner of the room, he looked up, to see Loki wrapped in a burnt blanket, holding tightly to a scorched pillow, and Tony's heart gave a pang of sympathy in his chest.

"Loki…?" Tony said, then stopped. He hadn't expected his voice to come out like _that._ So small, and timid, and so _sad._

He came a few steps closer, and Loki watched him closely, but without that sharp suspicion that he had shown earlier. Now he just looked tired.

"It's just me," Tony said. "I'm real. I'm Tony. I won't… I just want to help you."

Loki was silent for a moment. "Your first girlfriend," he said.

"What?" Tony asked. He crouched down to be at eye level with Loki. "What are you talking about?"

Loki sucked in a sharp breath at the question, but then shook his head slightly, forcing out a slow exhale. "Her name. Tell me her name."

Tony hesitated, caught off guard. But, dutifully, he thought back to his first girlfriend - a skinny rod of a girl, back in the sixth grade, with bright blue eyes and an incessant use of the word 'like.' "Her name was Sarah," he said.

"Last name."

"Johnson."

"Tell me something about her."

"We had our first kiss in the back of her brother's van," Tony said. "He was driving us to school; had to stop to get gas. We were friends since fourth grade, and suddenly we were both just leaning in."

Loki blinked, his eyes focused on a random patch of carpet. "Your mother's name."

Tony didn't hesitate. "Maria."

"Tell me something about her."

Tony hesitated.

Loki looked up sharply, his eyes meeting Tony's. "Now," he said, somehow able to appear threatening even when he was wrapped up in a blanket.

"She was… a scientist, like my father. She always wore her hair tied back."

"Something else."

Tony swallowed. He lowered himself from his crouching position to sit cross-legged on the floor. "She liked to play piano. Old stuff, from when I was a kid. We would… sing along to it. Unabashedly off-key," he allowed himself to smile. "My dad hated it."

Perhaps Loki's eyes softened, or perhaps that was just wishful thinking. But he did shift into a more relaxed position, his grip on the pillow lessening. "Sing one."

So Tony did.

His voice was shaking, and he kept having to stop to take deep breaths and wipe away the tears that were welling up in his eyes, but he made it through the song. Loki watched him steadily, his eyes showing no emotion even as Tony's wouldn't stop watering.

When the song was finished, Tony looked down at his hands, feeling awkward. He licked his lips - his throat was dry. And his heart felt heavy.

"You should go now," Loki said.

A pang of disappointment hit him painfully in the chest, but Tony didn't argue. However, before he opened the door to leave, he turned back and asked, "Is it all right if Thor comes in?"

"No."

"Okay," Tony said. And he left Loki there, alone. _Again._

()()()

Tony told Thor that Loki had asked him some questions. He also told Thor that Loki didn't want him to come in, and that if Thor tried to, Tony would blast him to oblivion.

That was all he was able to bring himself to say before he collapsed onto the couch, suddenly feeling exhausted, and let his head drop back against the pillows. He stared vacantly at the ceiling with his arms crossed.

He felt the couch cushion sink as Thor sat next to him.

Thor's gaudy red cape was draped over the couch cushions, and his hair was draped over his gaudy red cape. He was a bulky, awkward presence, and it was strange because for so long it had just been Tony and Loki, and neither of them were nearly as big as Thor was. It felt off, having him there.

"Has it happened before?" Thor asked. "You know… him running away and cowering in the corner."

Tony leaned forward, bent over his clasped hands, but didn't look at Thor. "It's called a panic attack," he snapped. He didn't know why he was so angry. "It's not cowering."

"Yes, but…"

Tony glanced sharply at Thor. "Spit it out."

"I've never seen him do anything like that before. All that…" he heard Thor swallow. "Crying. And acting like he couldn't breathe. Usually, he would avoid such a display of weakness."

Abruptly, Tony stood up. He whirled around to face Thor, clenching his fists tightly because otherwise he was going to end up punching him. "He isn't weak. _This_," Tony waved his hand vaguely. "Does _not_ make him weak."

Then he stalked to the fridge, flung it open, grabbed a beer and ripped the cap off, drinking in huge gulps even though he didn't like the taste and didn't want to be drunk right now.

"They thought he was brainwashing you, or abusing you in some way. Forcing you to be his ally. Some people thought you had helped him willingly - Rogers is one of them. Barton too. But not me, because…" he heard Thor suck in a breath, but he didn't look away from the bottle in his hand. "I don't recognize him anymore. He used to play tricks. But in these past years, he has stopped playing."

"And?"

"How can you be so sure that this is not just another, crueler form of manipulation?"

Tony's knuckles were white around the neck of the bottle.

And his first instinct was to snap at Thor, to be angry at him for not seeing something that was so fucking obvious. Of _course_ Loki wasn't manipulating him. Tony could trust him. _Did_ trust him.

But Thor didn't know that.

And it was hard to explain. Because he didn't want to tell Thor anything that Loki wouldn't want him to know, but how could he explain what he had felt when he saw him in that cell, that burning, horrible knowledge in the back of his mind?

Tony had been tortured, too. And perhaps that was where that understanding came from, and perhaps that was what Thor couldn't see.

Add to that all Loki and he had been through together - only a little more than a week, but it felt so much longer. Loki had made so much progress, and Tony was certain that they had started to grow somewhat close...

All undone in mere moments by Thor's presence.

The beer was bad, but Tony suspected it tasted worse than it actually was. He set loudly on the counter and let out an irritated huff of a breath. He remained standing there with his eyes on the bottle, trying to think of an answer that would satisfy Thor, because if he thought Loki was manipulating Tony and went and tattled to SHIELD, Tony would never forgive himself.

But what answer could he give?

Loki _had_ manipulated him. Had lied to him, to get his magic back. And he had used that magic to escape.

What proof did Tony have that he wouldn't do something like that again?

"Stark," Thor said, probably getting impatient.

"Just… trust me on this. Okay?" Tony turned to him. "Just trust me." It wasn't enough, but what else could he say?

Thor didn't reply.

()()()

An hour or so later, Tony decided that Loki was probably hungry.

And he would have to bring him some food.

And no, it was _not_ an excuse to see him, to check on him in some way other than looking at the footage Jarvis had pulled up for him. Although, that would definitely be a weight off his chest, and probably relieve a bit of the anxiety he was feeling, at least for a little while.

He rapped on the door with his knuckles, leaning his head against it. "Loki?"

From the other side, he heard something that was like a cross between a hiccup and a laugh. And, perhaps, a sob.

"Can I come in?" Tony asked.

"Of course you can," Loki said. There was a bitterness in his voice that hinted at a double-meaning there somewhere, but Tony didn't dwell on it, because he was too busy opening the door and sighing in relief when the room wasn't scorched any worse than it had been earlier, and Loki was sitting with his legs flat to the ground instead of pulled up to his chest. The pillow was lying in his lap, and his hands clenched on it, perhaps unknowingly, when Tony entered, but that was the only sign that anything was wrong.

"Lunch," Tony said. "Well, actually." He checked his watch. "It's four. So, dinner?"

He crossed the room and set the plate a few feet from Loki, then reconsidered, picked it up again, and set it down next to him. Loki eyed him with something like amusement. He took his hands off the pillow and crossed them inelegantly on top of it, dropping his head back with a _thud_ against the wall. "Look at you."

"What?"

Loki laughed. "Look at you!"

Tony paused, in the middle of standing up. Then he dropped to one knee, resting his elbow on the other. "What are you talking about?"

Loki flinched, minutely, but Tony immediately straightened, adding a few extra inches of distance between them.

Loki waved his hand vaguely, casually, through the air. "You wish I was a machine. Don't you? No matter if you're a Chitauri or not, either way, you wish that _this_," he gestured at the food, "Would work." He eyed it with distaste. "You wish you could destroy me. Or," he said, cocking his head to the side in thought. "You wish you could fix me. And you _hate_ that you can't." He grinned widely, but it disappeared a moment after, as if it had never been there. He jumped up into a crouch, put both hands on the walls that met at his back, and pushed himself towards Tony. "Whatever game this is. Whatever lie." He shook his head. "It didn't work. _Do you hear me?"_ he shouted, baring his teeth, and Tony jerked backwards, almost falling over.

"Loki…"

A fire burst to life in Loki's hands, burning two smoldering holes in the wall. Tony stumbled to his feet, putting his hands up to shield himself.

Slowly, Loki stood up. In the most threatening way it was physically possible to stand up, of course. He stalked towards Tony, raising his arms as he did so, his eyes dark. It reminded Tony of the Loki who had attacked New York, the one who had thrown him out a window.

"We said we wouldn't hurt each other, remember?" Tony burst out, eyeing Loki's flaming hands.

Loki changed direction, now pacing around Tony. Tony turned in circles, watching him. Abruptly, Loki stopped and clapped his hands together, smothering the flame. "How many, Stark?"

"What?"

Loki looked to the ground, then back up at Tony. "How many did I kill? How many Midgardians? Answer quickly."

Tony swallowed. He scratched his chin, and he folded his arms, tapping his foot against the ground. "One hundred eighty-nine. One hundred and eight-nine people died."

Loki raised his chin, which was unnecessary because he was already much taller than Tony. Then he spun on his heel, pacing in the opposite direction. "I should have asked you before. It would have saved me a great deal of needless worry."

Tony watched him silently.

Loki waved a hand towards him. "Yes, Stark. There were one hundred and eighty-nine. And that means that you must be real. It is more proof than mere facts about your mother would ever be. Do you want to know why?" he spun towards Tony, and met his eyes directly. It was one of the most intimidating periods of eye contact that Tony had ever experienced. And he opened his mouth to answer, but Loki cut him off. "Because Thanos would never have bothered to count."

He started to pace again.

"I should have asked you earlier. Asking questions was always easy for me. Did you know that? It's true." He didn't smile, but there was a hint of one in his voice. "I was always annoying everyone, with my endless inquiries on magic and warfare and why my favorite babbling old ancient scholars hadn't written more books. But of course, I don't often do such a monotonous thing as asking questions anymore.

"And, oh, Stark, how I used to wield my magic… I was one of the most skilled mages in all of Asgard, or that's what I told myself. Fire and light and nuance, or so I thought. It was quiet and quick and woman's strategy, of course. _Argr._ But I must have been wrong, and it must not have been so quiet at all. Because _now_," his next step was louder, sharper, almost a stomp. "My magic is blunt and withered and _ugly." _He spat the word. "Perhaps once, back when I was still _me_, I would never have told you all of this. But I don't have any pride left. Not anymore."

"Loki…"

"He's my brother and I can't even look at him!" Loki whirled to stand behind Tony, and Tony spun just in time to see his eyes darken and hear his voice drop. "I am broken, Stark. I am the one thing that you can never fix. It is hopeless!" he yelled, grabbing Tony's shoulders. Tony tensed, but just as suddenly, Loki had let go, and was pacing again, like a caged animal, going around and around in circles. "It is hopeless. And I'm too fucking stupid to understand why you keep trying, and trying, and trying, but eventually even you will have to see sense."

And with that he went to the door and threw it open, walking out of the room without so much as a second glance.


	15. Chapter 15

There were so many emotions swirling sickeningly through Loki's head - fear and sadness and a crippling shame, so intense that all he wanted to do was crawl away and hide like the miserable, wretched creature he was - but he pushed them away and focused on his _anger_, his anger, clenching his hands into fists and letting his magic billow around him like one of Thor's whirling storms, cracking with lightning and giving great booms of thunder that rattled his bones.

"Loki…" Thor stepped forward from somewhere, his ridiculous bright red cape fallen over his shoulder, looking like a cloak of blood.

Loki stepped away from him, and shouted at him, "No! I don't want to hear you patronize me, and I don't want to hear you pretend to give a _shit_ about me. Get _out_ of here, Thor!"

He shouted because he didn't know what else to do.

He couldn't function when Thor was here. Even now, he felt the urge to run and run with his tail between his legs - _pathetic - _at the mere sight of his false brother. In his mind, Thor's lips turned up in an insane smile, and his hands clamped down on Loki's shoulders, and pushed him down, down to the floor.

_Thud._

He stormed past his brother, towards the door, not caring if SHIELD would find him, not caring about anything at all.

But he was so hungry.

So tired.

That he staggered, and fell against the doorframe. His shoulder hit it, but he made no sound, despite the pain. However, Thor must have taken it upon himself to steady him, because suddenly that hand was on his shoulder.

Loki whirled around, jerking out of his grasp, flattening himself against the door, and crossing his arms automatically, over the hidden burn on his chest. "Don't touch me!" he yelled, hysterical, panicking, unable to even think. "Don't you dare touch me! I will _kill_ you!"

Thor's eyes darkened, he took a step forward, but then Tony was grabbing his arm and pulling him back - "Get away from him, Thor. Thor, back away!" But Thor took another step, and Loki couldn't control himself.

He was going to kill them.

And that was fine.

_They deserved it._

But he accidentally looked at Tony, and his eyes were focused only on Loki, desperately, pleading with him to _stop,_ to _think_, to remember.

Loki may be an idiot, unable to even preserve his own memories.

But he hadn't forgotten _everything._

So at the last second, he redirected his magic, and the door exploded into a million dagger-like shards of wood, cutting his arms and his legs but he didn't care, it was nothing compared to what Thanos had done.

He turned and walked away - the only thing keeping him from running was the inane desire to hold onto the scraps of dignity that he had left, if they even existed at all.

"Don't use your magic the signal isn't blocked beyond the house!" Stark shouted after him, all in one breath.

In response, Loki swiftly pulled a knife out of his shoe - he had put one in each - and flicked his wrist, hopefully making the sun glint off of it threateningly; it should be at the right angle.

He didn't bother to leave the sight of the house; instead, he hurled the knife at the first tree he saw, and pulled the other knife out of his left shoe, throwing that one after it. He grabbed the knives and screamed, stabbing them into the trunk against and again, in a pathetic display like a child having a temper tantrum.

When he stopped screaming, he barely covered his mouth in time to hold back the sob that immediately came crashing out of his throat, like waves breaking on the shore.

Tears fell from his eyes.

He was so goddamn pathetic.

So pathetic that he couldn't remember anything, that when he had seen Thor, his stupid mind had convinced him that Thor was a Chitauri even though he knew, he knew that he wasn't. And he was so stupid - just an object, a plaything, Thanos had been right - that he had been about to… had been about to _suck Thor's cock_ like the whore he was.

The shame, the humiliation, was a tangible thing, churning in his stomach, making him want to throw up. He hated it. He hated what Thanos had reduced him to. He hated what he had become.

And he was tempted - so tempted - to turn the knife around, to stab it into his own skin, perhaps his heart…

It would be easy.

And why not? It was hopeless. That was what he had told Stark, and it was true. He could never be fixed.

He was broken.

Loki ran his finger over one of the blades. It cut into his skin, and blood ran down his hand in a scarlet river. It was pretty.

"Loki…?"

He turned with a snarl, arm raised, ready to throw a knife at whoever had spoken.

But it was Stark.

So, slowly, he lowered the knife.

And with nothing to replace the anger he had felt only a moment before, tears welled up in his eyes, the pathetic tears of an _argr_, of a whore, a beast, a creature. _He never used to cry like this._

He turned his head away, although he would much rather have ripped Stark's eyes out to spare himself this humiliation. He wouldn't, though. He may have forgotten the other rules - _idiot -_ but he did remember one. The most important one. _Rule one of staying at my place. We won't hurt each other._

And Loki would follow it. Because he wasn't going to leave.

He couldn't.

"I'm sorry," Stark said, quietly. His arms were crossed tightly, and his eyes were focused on a point somewhere to Loki's left. "For what they did to you."

_You pity me._

But of course he did. Loki was pathetic; of course Stark pitied him.

"I probably don't even know everything," Stark continued. "But what I do know is… is horrible. And no one, _no one_, deserves that."

Loki watched him silently, with hot tears still falling from his eyes. He blinked, and the world went blurry. It was better that way.

"But I… I don't think you should be alone," Stark said. "Because…" and Loki heard him sigh, and saw him draw himself up to his full height, eyes on the sky. "It's so lonely that way. And trust me, if I could do it again, if I could go back and return from Afghanistan again, I would talk to Pepper, I would talk to Rhodey, to anyone who would listen, really. About it. But all I did was bottle it all up."

Loki responded with silence.

Stark smiled sadly. "I'm not trying to be patronizing or say I know better than you or anything. That's ridiculous. But I'll give you an offer. Either you stay out here and I annoy you by trying to be helpful, even though I'm probably not. Or, you come inside and sit on the couch, and I'll leave you alone. I might make you some food though - can't help myself. But you don't have to eat it if you don't want to."

"Thor?" Loki asked, although he hadn't meant to talk. To say a single word.

"He's gone," Tony said. His smile disappeared. "I made him go. He said he'll be back in a few days to check on you, but we both agreed it would be better if he left."

And at that, something within Loki relaxed, and a bit of the anxiety ebbed away. So pathetic that the mere sight of his brother had been enough to scare him so badly. So pathetic that _anything_ could have reduced him to _that._

But nevertheless, he felt better knowing that Thor was gone.

"He wanted to talk to you," Tony said, softly, although he looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight from side to side. "He was really concerned. In a normal, brotherly way," he said quickly, holding his hands up as if to brace himself against the withering glare Loki shot him. "Not pity, or anything like that. And I'm not here because I pity you, either. I'm here because I care about you," he shrugged, lowering his hands. "Now, about that deal…?"

Loki searched Stark's face for any sign of a lie. Of those sadistic plans to torment or torture him that he had been so concerned about. Of Chitauri skin.

"I accept," Loki said, finding nothing.

And he brushed past Stark and the idiotic grin on his face, trudging back up to the house without a second thought.

()()()

He sat down on the couch, and sank into the cushions. He spent his time by digging his nails into the armrest, and ignored the protesting squeaky noises it made as he did so. In fact, he ignored mostly everything, staring blankly at the wall with his feet up on Stark's ottoman. There was a window to the right and a bookshelf to the left and a slowly revolving ceiling fan above, but he looked at none of them, instead focusing on that white paint.

"You okay?"

Loki didn't respond.

"You know, that wall really isn't going to reveal the secrets of the universe anytime soon. However," and Loki could see his still-enduring idiotic grin out of the corner of his eye as he set something down on the armrest, beside Loki's hand. "I would argue that pizza can do just that. And booze." He set a glass down with a _clink_. "But together? Mmm, you'll be fucking… er… Plato. Or something. Not _fucking_ Plato," he quickly corrected, hands up. "Just Plato."

Loki glanced at him, pointedly. "I thought you said that you would leave me alone."

Stark's face immediately fell, as if he had practiced doing so in the mirror, adding as much dejection into those puppy eyes as he could muster. "I mean…" he scratched the back of his neck. "Okay, yeah, I did say that. I'll just be…" he pointed towards a random hallway. "Yeah. I'll be over there, I guess. If you need me."

Loki looked at him for a long moment, not sure why he was considering it, but…

Well, as long as he wouldn't talk, perhaps it would be nice to have someone there.

Not that Loki would ever admit it.

Even to himself.

He waved a hand idly. "No, you may stay. As long as you cease your incessant rambling, I will tolerate your pitiful mortal presence."

Stark immediately grinned, and practically bounced as he dropped onto the couch beside Loki.

"I didn't say you could sit by me."

"You didn't say I _couldn't."_

Loki _hmmph_'d, but turned his face to the side to hide a small smile.

His gaze landed on a grease-stained cardboard box, with the words "Little Caesar's" printed across the top.

He turned back to Stark and raised an eyebrow.

"It's pepperoni, because I assumed you weren't one of those maniacs who likes pineapple or mushrooms or, like, shriveled bits of hamburger on their pizza," Stark explained, reaching inelegantly across Loki to grab the pizza box. It caused his arm to touch Loki's chest, but he didn't draw away.

Because Stark wouldn't hurt him.

Yes, yes, he remembered. Stark had never hurt him. And he… he wouldn't.

Stark took a piece out of the box, undeterred by the wet shine of grease, and he took an enormous bite, closing his eyes and chewing slowly to savor the taste. "Mmmmghn," he said.

"It's good then, I assume?" Loki said, amused.

Stark's eyes widened comically, and he spoke awkwardly around the food in his mouth. "'Oo 'aven 'ad pizza? Ohmygah, Lokes!" He swallowed. "This is an atrocity. This is a crime!" he brandished the pizza box in Loki's face. "You have to try some!"

Yes, it was obviously just another thinly disguised way of getting him to eat, but the food did smell good, and Loki's stomach was so empty that it hurt. His hands were shaking, had been for a while.

But the sight of the food reminded him of his cell, reminded him of Thor and that insane smile and those hands, all of those hands all over him, everywhere, the heat and the pain and the taste...

Loki shook his head. "Red," he choked out, pushing the box away.

Stark looked at him for a moment, his gaze indecipherable (well, that was probably because Loki tried his best not to read into it - he could have deciphered it if he wanted to) before setting the pizza box on the floor and saying, "That's fine. No problem."

They sat in an uncomfortable silence while Stark ate, Loki's stomach throbbing weakly with hunger. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around that hollowness, leaning against the armrest because he suddenly felt too exhausted to hold himself upright. He dropped his head back against the couch cushions and closed his eyes.

()()()

The ensuing panic attack that occurred when Loki woke up and saw Stark sitting there next to him lasted longer than most of the others had, probably because of the events that had transpired earlier that day.

But this time, Loki was too tired to do anything other than curl up in the corner of the couch and try miserably to breathe.

Stark didn't touch him, but hovered near him uncertainly instead, occasionally speaking softly and telling him to breathe, that everything would be okay, that Thor was gone and he was safe and no one was going to hurt him, remember? Didn't he remember?

Loki buried his face in his arms and took deep, shuddering breaths, but they kept slipping away from him.

Dammit. Why did he have to be so weak?

And how did he get here in the first place?

Why was Stark next to him?

Then Stark took his hand, ever-so-gently, and held it as the minutes ticked by quietly, and Loki attempted to get his breathing and his emotions back under control. And slowly, Loki's memories clicked back into place.

He shouldn't have slept.

And he should have driven the knife home when he had the chance, because he didn't want to spend the rest of his life like this.

"You good?" Stark asked.

"Yes," Loki replied.

"Loki. Look at me."

Loki did.

Stark held his gaze steadily, tightening his grip on Loki's hands. "You don't have to lie. I want you to tell me if you're not feeling all right, so I can help you feel better. So: Are. You. Good?"

Loki looked away. "Stark..."

"Tony."

Loki hesitated. "Tony."

There was silence, while Loki tried to think of something to say.

"I'd like to just sit here. Without talking," he said.

"And that would make you feel better?"

"Yes."

"Then we'll do that," Stark said, with an air of finality.

He didn't relinquish his hold on Loki's hand.

And Loki didn't pull away.

()()()

The rest of the day was spent in relative silence, as the sun slipped down over the horizon, darkening the room because of the dimming light that streamed in through the windows.

Loki drifted in and out of sleep. After so many sleepless nights, that brief descent into sleep had felt like he was a man dying of thirst, handed a water bottle. It felt wonderful and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't bring himself to stay awake any longer.

Every time he woke up, he was slightly disoriented. Once, he had a panic attack, thinking that Tony was Thor. But every time, Tony gently reminded him of where he was, and who he was with. It made Loki feel stupid. The worst thing was that he needed it..

Tony only left twice, to go to the bathroom. Each time when he returned, he held out his hand for Loki to take, and Loki did.

About thirty minutes after Tony's second return, he set down his phone and leaned his head back against the couch cushions. A few minutes after that, he started to shift in his sleep, jerking and twitching.

Instantly, Loki wrapped his seidr around his dreams, taking them into his own mind.

This nightmare was similar to the others, but with one glaring difference.

Instead of Tony, crouching in front of the wretched, terrified, begging creature in the corner, it was Thor.

It was Thor, and he grinned devilishly, reaching out and grabbing hold of the sobbing Loki's shoulders, pulling him close to his chest. Loki screamed and pleaded. His eyes started to leak blood, but Thor wiped it away with the back of his hand, smearing it all over Loki's cheeks.

"Shhh," Thor murmured. "Rule one: we don't hurt each other. Remember? Remember?"

"I don't know who you are," Loki said. He hiccupped pathetically, as hot tears streamed down his face, mixing with the blood.

Thor pinched the neckline of Loki's shirt delicately in between his thumb and his forefingers, pulling it down. Loki whimpered, but Thor put a finger to his lips. "Shh."

He sank his fingernail into the skin of Loki's chest.

Loki whimpered again.

"I won't hurt you," Thor said. "We don't hurt each other. Remember?"

Blood ran down Loki's stomach, dribbled out of his mouth, leaked from his eyes.

Thor slashed his nail downwards, cutting a line into Loki's flesh.

Loki screamed.

And beside him, Stark jerked awake, breathing hard.

He looked frantically towards Loki, who couldn't breathe either. He had thought that he had screamed only in the dream, but he must have done so in real life as well.

They stared at each other, both caught deep in the grips of panic attacks, unable to tell the other to breathe, to calm down, because they couldn't do it themselves.

**Sir, I advise you and Mr. Odinson both to breathe slowly. Inhale now.**

Loki tried to, but couldn't. He just couldn't. He buried his face in his arms, in the comforting darkness, and he tried so damn hard to do as Jarvis said but all he could manage to do was take in a series of small, shaking breaths that didn't get any air into his lungs.

Was he going to suffocate?

**Exhale.** Jarvis ordered.

Loki tried.

He tried.

But it shook, and - no, he was shaking, - and everything was trembling, his hands, his knees, his every breath was shaking too damn much to fit in his lungs. The panic just kept rising higher and higher because he couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe.

Someone wrapped their arms around him, and he let out a sob as he collapsed into that embrace, too terrified to be ashamed.

He didn't know if he was crying because of the nightmare, or because of Thor's visit or perhaps for everything, everything, all at once.

But when Tony began to rub soft circles into his back, murmuring soft, meaningless words into his ear, with one hand wrapped gently around his waist in a way that reminded him nothing of Thanos or the Chitauri or even the vile illusion of Thor, Loki began to cry even harder.

_Argr. _And pathetic, pathetic, he was...

"Good," Tony murmured in his ear. "Good. Let it all out. That's fine. That's good. You're doing good. We all need a nice, long cry sometimes."

He had the sudden urge to tell Tony, to tell him what he was. He wasn't good. He wasn't. Thanos had been right about him. He wasn't good and he would never be, he was just _argr_ and pathetic and not worth anyone's time.

But he didn't say it. Because it felt too nice to listen to Tony's kind words - he didn't want to interrupt them. Perhaps he could pretend again.

He could pretend that what Tony was saying was true.

Pretend that he wasn't broken. That it hadn't happened and he was himself again. That he was whole, and unmarked, without a burn on his chest and scars on his back and a fractured mind that couldn't hold its memories, like a glass of water with a crack in the bottom.

What was the harm in pretending?

He was the Trickster, after all.

What a hopeless trick to play.

But he _needed_ it. Just for a moment. Just for a moment, he _needed_ it so much.

So he closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath and let Tony's words wash over him in something like a calming flood of warm water - "You're okay. You're actually doing great, you know. You're so strong, Loki."

Loki jerked in his grip, pulling away from him, startled. "What?"

Tony stared back at him. "What what?"

Loki wiped at his eyes. "I... you said..." he trailed off.

"Oh," Tony said, the realization dawning in his eyes. He looked down in order to take Loki's hand again, and Loki let him.

"It's true, you know," Tony said, softly. "I've been thinking it since you got here. I don't know anyone who could have gone through what you did, and within a week, been… been sauntering around the place like nothing happened at all," he laughed quietly.

Loki could think of a million reasons why Tony was wrong. (He had just been _crying,_ for god's sake, bawling like a child.)

But he ignored them.

For just one moment. For just one moment, he allowed himself to think that perhaps, perhaps Tony was right.

That despite what Thanos had done to him, that despite the broken mess he had become... he was strong.


	16. Chapter 16

_Sorry about the wait! I keep forgetting to update on this site. About five more chapters are up on AO3, if you'd like to read them there. But I will try to update more regularly on ._

()()()

Loki refused breakfast.

And Tony was Not Having It.

Sure, it had been a hell of a day. And he understood that Loki was probably feeling more anxious than he usually would, and wanted food even less than he normally did, but Tony didn't give a damn. He knew Loki had been eating more recently, but he didn't eat dinner last night and Tony wasn't about to let him skip two meals in a row.

So he picked the cold pizza box off the floor, sniffed it, shrugged, and plopped it in Loki's lap.

And for emphasis, he took a piece out and took a huge bite. "Mmm," he said, swallowing and leaning back into the cushions. "Mmm, mmm, mmm. Can't say no to a cold slice of pizza early in the morning, can you?"

He watched Loki, eagerly waiting for him to nod and hopefully devour the entire box.

But Loki remained in the same position, staring at the opposite wall. He slowly shook his head, crossing his newly bandaged arms (Tony had spent nearly an hour fussing over the gunshot wound, which was luckily just a scrape, and the little cut marks and splinters from the door he exploded). "I am not hungry," he said, in a firm tone that left no room for argument.

Tony argued anyway.

"Come on. You need it. I know you don't want it but you do need it."

Especially after the god awful day he'd had. Seeing his brother had obviously brought up painful memories…

The image of Loki on his knees before his brother, reaching up with that trembling hand, flashed through Tony's mind again. And when it did, he could feel the same mini panic attack he had experienced after waking up threatening to overwhelm him again.

They were all so fucking on edge, their emotions running rampant. Tony chewed ruefully on the inside of his lip. Loki should have someone stable to help him through this. Tony would try his best, but he didn't know what to do when Loki refused food or had a flashback or broke into a rant like earlier, calling himself all sorts of horrible things that Tony had no idea how to protest against, even though he knew they were wrong.

He had said nothing then, and even now he was saying nothing, because he had no fucking idea what to say.

But he couldn't let Loki go on thinking that all those things he had said about himself were true.

Perhaps it was time for them to have another talk.

()()()

"First and foremost," Tony began, after he had poured them both glasses of scotch (Loki's being much more full, of course) and once Loki had grudgingly sat down across from him with his arms folded neatly on the table, his posture stiff and his eyes carefully blank. "I'm gonna try to, I don't know, avoid triggering anything…"

"I am not a china doll, Stark," Loki said, curtly.

"Tony," Tony said, automatically. "And I know. But honestly, the last thing we need is _either _of us having another panic attack right now. We're both not functioning at our best, emotions are running high," he waved a hand through the air. "Anyway. If you want me to stop talking, just say 'red.'"

"You are ridiculous," Loki growled, glancing somewhere to Tony's right. "If I wanted you to stop talking, it would be easier to simply say, 'stop.'"

"Yeah, but…" Tony floundered around for an explanation. "Sometimes, it's easier to… I guess it's nice to have that simple, single word, where you know that the other person will immediately stop everything they're doing. I mean, safe words are more of a BDSM thing - you know, kinky stuff - but the same can apply here." He raised an eyebrow as a random, inappropriate (in every sense of the word) thought came to him. "Do you have kinks on Asgard?"

Loki closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "The things you choose to focus on."

"Oh, sorry. Yeah. You're right," Tony stammered. But the urge to ramble was strong, and he was sorely tempted to do something awkward like mention the time Janice or Jane or fucking Jezebel - whatever her goddamn fucking name was - had practically bitten off his ear, or perhaps that particularly enlightening session he experienced with that man he took home from one his many parties, where they basically spent most of the night taking turns choking each other. And Tony kept lying to himself, telling himself that the only reason he endured that weirdness was for 'research'.

However, most data was not nearly so enjoyable to collect.

"Hn," he said.

"Hmm?" Loki asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

"Mm. Oh? Nothing," Tony said, quickly. Although his mind was far, far away.

It had been a long fucking time since he had had sex, okay? At least a week. (Okay so maybe that wasn't so long, but it felt way longer.)

Loki leaned forward. "I must say, I am quite curious as to what you are thinking about, _Tony." _

Tony burst out laughing. "I bet you are. I _bet _you are," he shook his head. "Sorry, Rudolph. You're gonna have to remain in the dark for this one. I think."

Loki leaned back. "You can't hide your thoughts from me. You mortals are so easy to read."

Eagerly, Tony threw himself into the argument, and they hurled playful insults and vastly inappropriate jokes (some sounded an awful lot like flirting, or would have if Tony didn't know better) back and forth over the table instead of talking about anything serious, but that was okay, that was _great _. Loki seemed happy.

But then, after their laughter died away, Loki looked off to the side, suddenly somber. His hands were clasped on the table top, and Tony had to fight the urge to reach out and wrap his own tightly around them. He wasn't sure if Loki would want that, so he managed to keep himself from touching him.

"Can't we just…" Loki trailed off, but Tony could fill in the blanks. _Can't we just pretend everything's fine? _

"No," he said.

But where to start? With Loki's reaction to seeing Thor? With his outburst earlier, and the horrible things he had said about himself? The nightmare he must have had, when he woke up screaming? The food he had refused?

Tony did _not _like how many options there were.

It would probably best to start with the least possibly triggering option. So Tony asked, "Were you having a nightmare? Earlier?"

Loki looked down at his nails, studying them idly, as if he didn't have a care in the world. Tony was abandoning all hope of ever receiving a reply, when suddenly Loki's head jerked up and down in a quick nod.

"Was it about Thanos? Or about Thor? Or me?"

Loki grimaced. "Stop." He clenched his hand into a fist. "I mean, 'red.'" Too many questions."

Oh.

"Maybe we could take a break in between?" Tony offered.

Then Loki raised his head, and there was a definite gleam of mischief in his eyes. "My turn, then."

_Oh. _

Loki straightened, leaned his head back, and studied him for a long moment, with his hands pressed together beneath his chin as if he were praying (although Tony doubted Loki ever had, or ever would, pray to anyone). A strand of hair had fallen over his eye, and it quivered every time he blinked.

"What does it do?"

"What does what do?"

Loki gestured towards Tony's chest. "That. Big, glowing blue thing imbedded in you chest. You can't miss it."

Oh, wow. So Loki was not playing around. Going for the big questions already.

Tony shifted uncomfortably, looking down at the faint blue glow that showed even through the black shirt he was wearing. "Er." He pressed a hand to it, cutting off the light. "It keeps shrapnel from stopping my heart."

"Why would there be shrapnel in your heart?" Loki asked.

"Uh, uh, uh," Tony waved a finger. "It's my turn." He took a breath. "What was your nightmare about?" Perhaps it was a cruel question, and he shouldn't ask. But Loki had just asked him about his arc reactor, so it didn't feel so awful to ask him about a nightmare he had had. After all, Tony had had his own nightmares recently.

Loki did not hesitate to answer. "I dreamed that my magic was being torn from me."

Oh, wow. His magic was _that _important to him? Important enough to make him scream out in his sleep?

No wonder he had lied to get it back.

Tony nodded sharply, and Loki met his eyes steadily, unwavering.

_"__Why _would there be shrapnel in your heart?"

Tony told him. Loki pursed his lips, but showed no other noticeable reaction. "Did I actually help, after you woke up?" Tony asked. "With the nightmare, I mean. Did I help, or did I just make it worse?"

Something in Loki's neck moved as he swallowed. "I'd say that was obvious."

"Not an answer, bud."

Loki blinked, and he said something but no words came out. Then he shook his head slightly, and said, "Yes. You helped. What happened to Barton?"

"What happened to… what happened to Clint?" Tony heard his own voice harden, at the memory of what Loki had done to Clint.

Loki gave an almost imperceptible nod. "I'm merely curious," he said.

"He's fine," Tony said, shrugging and looking away. "Hanging out with Natasha, hopefully relieving their unresolved sexual tension with some insane, traumatized assassin sex."

"Don't leave anything out, Stark," Loki said.

So he was back to Stark? Still?

"He had to take a break from his job at SHIELD," Tony finally relented. "For his mental health. They didn't think he was stable, although he insisted that he was. But his break only lasted a few months, and he's back now. Robin Hooding it out in some shady bunker somewhere, y'know how SHIELD is. How did you get your magic back?"

Loki didn't hesitate. "Red."

"Oh," Tony said. "Okay." He wrung his hands, before he realized what he was doing and crossed his arms. If he didn't know better, he would find that suspicious, that Loki didn't want to tell him. But he _did _know better. Loki wasn't withholding this information in order to trick him, to get something.

"Um... " Tony hesitated.

But he had to ask. And if Loki didn't want to answer, he could just say so.

He had to ask.

"When Thor was here…" he trailed off when he saw Loki stiffen. "Sorry, I can ask a different question."

"You haven't even asked one yet," Loki said, his tone biting, but Tony suspected that was to cover something up.

"Fine," he said. "When Thor was here…" But at the last second, Tony decided against asking that, and switched to a different question. Probably a more important one. "On the beach. You said you knew I wasn't real… and you said that before, too, you said I was a Chitauri, but you claimed it was just a nightmare." Tony chewed his lip. "Was it?"

Loki ran a finger down the side of his glass. There was a small cut on his fingertip.

"Some things are better left unsaid," he murmured, tilting the glass to look into it. The ice cubes clinked together. His eyes narrowed, and hardened. He drummed his fingers against the tabletop. Was he getting angry? Probably, and that was understandable. But Tony really didn't want a repeat of the mega-magical-explosion debacle from earlier.

"Oh, and Loki…" _you're not weak, you're not pathetic, and you definitely aren't broken, and I hate that you think those things about yourself. _

But saying that wouldn't make Loki believe it.

In fact, bringing it up might just make everything worse.

Tony would just have to do his best to _show _him. (He decided without really thinking, but it was an easy decision.)

He swallowed, shifted in his seat.

Loki's eyes had dropped down to his hands. Was that because he was ashamed of something? Of himself? Thought he wasn't good enough?

Was _that _why he hadn't been eating? Because he thought he didn't deserve food?

Tony swallowed again, blinked quickly.

"Um… if you get pissed, is your magic gonna start blowing everything up again?" he asked, cautiously, trying a new question, because while Loki hadn't said 'red' in response to the last one, it was clear that he hadn't wanted to answer it.

Loki cocked his head to the side, still looking intently at his glass of scotch. He lifted it to his lips, took a sip, and set it back down, in one fluid motion. "I don't know," he said. "But it is as I said; my magic is uncontrollable at the moment."

Tony could hear the phantom echo of Loki's words from earlier. _Blunt and withered and ugly. _

"It didn't feel that way to me," he said. "Well, actually, in a way it does, I guess. But not in a scary, oh-shit-my-guts-are-gonna-end-up-decorating-the-walls kind of way. Actually, all I could focus on was how freaking _good _it felt. Almost as good as an orgasm."

Loki pinched his nose again.

"And I mean that as the highest of praise," Tony continued.

Loki let out a slow sigh.

"Like. It was epic. I'm getting horny just thinking about it. Can you do that again?" Tony asked, holding out his hand towards Loki in anticipation.

Loki glanced at his hand, then at him. "The amount of magic I used on you was inconsequential. Was practically nothing. It is only the simple biology of your mortal body that caused you to feel it so intensely."

"Wow," Tony said. "That's really, really interesting." He nodded several times as if to prove that he was telling the truth. "So," he waggled his fingers. "Magic? As long as you don't explode me."

"You want to feel my magic, even after I told you it was uncontrollable?" Loki asked, cocking his head to the other side. "You are very reckless, Tony Stark."

"I mean, I already broke you out of SHIELD, I think getting a 'lil taste of your wizard powers ranks pretty low on my list of 'Totally Idiotic Shit I've Done' at the moment. But then again, it's a long list, and..."

Loki shut him up by grabbing his hand.

And instantly, he was swept away by it, feeling like he had been hurled up into the sky, trapped in that instant between flying and falling, where his heart flew up into his throat and his stomach dropped into his feet and he wanted to shout something obscene at the stars. He couldn't stop a grin from crossing his face. It just felt so _right. _

Loki used more magic this time, and it did start to tingle unpleasantly after a bit. It didn't _really _tingle, not physically, but it _tingled _. Somehow. It was impossible to explain, how he could feel so much without actually feeling anything at all.

But Loki broke the connection quicker this time, pulling his hand away from Tony's as if he had been burned. Tony was dazed at first, unable to focus on anything but the disappointing sensation of feeling strangely empty, with his head still spinning from the rush. But once he was able to see properly again, he could see that Loki was breathing hard, hugging his chest with his eyes squeezed shut. Then he tipped dangerously forward, as if he couldn't hold himself up.

Tony had circled the table in an instant, poised to catch him if he fell. But Loki put up an irritated finger, panting as he choked out, "I'm… fine, Stark."

"No," Tony said. "No, no. You're not. What's wrong?"

Loki glared at him, then he tipped forward again. He caught himself on the edge of the table, but Tony put a hand on his shoulder to steady him anyway.

"Come on," he said, putting another hand on Loki's back and starting to push him off the chair. "To the couch we go."

Loki tried to shove him away, but failed miserably. However, Tony backed up anyway, because he really didn't want Loki to start exploding stuff. Loki hugged himself with his arms. He didn't seem to be having a panic attack. But he kept slumping to one side or another, and his eyes kept drifting shut. Tony reached up a cautious hand to help him, but he snapped, "I'm fine," again.

_No, you're really not _.

"Loki, talk to me. What's going on?" Tony asked. He bit his lip again. Had it been the use of his magic that exhausted him? But even when he hadn't been eating, he had still been able to use his magic without getting this tired. And now he had been healing, had been getting better, eating more, sleeping more.

Right?

Loki shook his head.

"If you start to fall, I'm going to catch you. I'm not about to stand back here and let you crack your head open. And if you start to fall, you _are _going to be carried to the couch. Would you rather be carried or walk there now?" Tony asked, feeling like he was talking to a rebellious child.

"I'm not going to fall," Loki said, stubbornly. He put a hand on the side of the table to steady himself. "I'm not weak."

"Never said you were," Tony said easily. _And you're not, you're not, not even close - how could you ever think that you were? _

Loki nodded hesitantly at first, then more vigorously, then he put a hand to his head, tangled his fingers in his hair, and looked back down at his glass of scotch.

"It's late," Loki said, without looking at the clock.

"It is," Tony agreed. "Time for bed, then?"

"I suppose," Loki said, to his glass. He ran his cut finger along the rim, in circles.

"You didn't drink much of that."

"Evidently."

"Oh well," Tony said. "But I'm sure you drank enough to get kinda wobbly. I should probably just help you walk over to the couch. Just in case. I don't want your blood on my hardwood floors."

Loki stood, leaning 'casually' against the table. Tony put a hand around his shoulders, and he didn't miss the way Loki leaned against him as if he was too tired to stand up, as Tony helped him walk out of the kitchen and into the living room.

And he found it funny that they didn't even discuss it. Loki collapsed onto the sofa in the corner, and Tony sprawled out on the one on the opposite wall, as if it was totally natural that they were sleeping in the same room. Of course, it was all practical. But still.

Jarvis turned off the lights, and Tony was left to listen to Loki's still-heavy breathing. He could vaguely see the outline of his pale skin - one of his hands draped over the side of the couch, his hair fallen over his face, his cheek squished into the pillow.

And Tony remained looking at Loki, with a faint smile on his face, until he fell asleep.

()()()

The hands tightened in his hair, dirty nails dug into his scalp. Tony sucked in heaving gasps of precious air, his eyes stinging, darting around until they landed on the car battery. It wasn't wet yet, _not yet _, but...

He was in the water again, his head spinning, his lungs aching. Then it was pain, pain in his chest - he opened his mouth, trying to breathe, to scream, but there was nothing but water, water, water.

They pulled him out again, and he tried not to make the water splash, chest heaving as his eyes fell on the car battery again. Fuck, he didn't want to die here.

When he looked down again, the water had turned to blood.

"No!" he shouted, as the hands adjusted their grip on his hair, and his shoulders, about to push him under. "No!" he fought, he screamed and kicked but they didn't care, they didn't give a damn. His heart was thudding in his chest. "No, don't! I'll build it for you, I'll build it for you, I'll build it I'll build it I'll…"

His panicked voice rose into a scream as they pushed him down, down, down.

Into Loki's blood.

Loki's blood.

He didn't know how he knew, he just did, he just _knew. _And he couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, his lungs felt like they were going to burst.

Blood filled his mouth.

Loki's blood.

And he swallowed it, he breathed it. It filled his lungs, it flowed through his veins, pulsing in time with the panicked beating of his heart.

And the hands on his shoulders pushed, pushed him forward into the bucket. He fell and fell and fell.

()()()

And screamed.

And screamed, and covered his face with his hands, and couldn't breathe, was going to fall, swallow, suffocate, drown. He turned on his side and pressed himself against the side of the couch, shaking, trying not to throw up and trying not to cry and trying to breathe.

"Oh, Tony," someone whispered. "I'm sorry."

There was a soft hand on his shoulder, sliding down his arm, fingers tangled in his hand. A warm breath on his neck, a knee pressed against his thigh, and an arm flung over his waist. Another hand in his hair, gentle fingers running through it, gently, gently, nothing at all like his dream.

Tony shuddered, and buried his face in the couch cushion. He gripped that hand tightly. It was the last thing left in the world.

And when he fell back asleep, he had no more nightmares.


	17. Chapter 17

They were a mess.

At least, that was what Tony said, when he finally woke up, rolling over to face Loki, which forced Loki to have to reluctantly remove his arm from Tony's waist. "Y'know, I think we've graduated."

"Mm?" Loki murmured, still groggy from the few hours of sleep he had gotten. Still reeling from Tony's nightmare.

Tony grinned unsteadily. His eyes looked haunted. "From 'a lil screwed up' to 'a motherfucking mess'."

Loki closed his eyes, reveling in the warmth. Strange, because normally he hated being warm. "We are quite the catastrophe."

It flashed through his head again - the pain, the blood and… and that terrible falling, falling, falling. He stiffened accidentally, wondering why he forgot the things he wanted desperately to remember, and was forced to remember the things he would give anything to forget.

But he could feel Tony's breath on his skin. At least he had gotten to get some sleep. So it was worth it.

"But it's not so bad," Tony slurred, voice heavy with sleep.

"No," Loki murmured.

The couch was big enough for two, practically a bed, so they weren't touching. Aside from their hands, which were still clasped together. And sweaty, too. But Loki didn't feel any urge to pull away.

He never really did anymore, did he?

()()()

"Coffee," Tony said, pushing a mug into Loki's hands.

Loki stared at it. And at his hands, which were shaking. How could one mug feel so heavy?

"_Don't_ tell me," Tony said, raising his eyes dramatically to the ceiling. "You've never had coffee. What do they feed you in Asgard?"

"Mainly red meat," Loki said, flatly, leaning against the wall in an effort to ward off the dizziness he had felt ever since leaving the couch. "Very red. And there is always an overabundance of peeled grapes."

"Sticking with the royal prince shtick, I see."

Loki drew himself up, looking down at Tony, with a smirk playing on his lips. "Aye. You should be bowing down to me, mortal."

"Don't start," Tony said, pretending to sound exasperated. He tapped a fingernail against the side of Loki's mug. "Less talking, more drinking. You still look tired."

Loki raised the mug to his nose and sniffed it, hesitantly. It did smell incredible, although he had to squeeze his eyes shut against the heat of the steam on his face. Cautiously, he took a sip.

"I barely tasted anything," he said, once he had regained his composure, and blinked the tears from his eyes.

"No duh. You were too busy having your tongue burnt off."

Loki ignored him.

He went to the table and sat down, without bringing his mug. He didn't feel like drinking either. Didn't feel like doing much of anything. And even if he had wanted to, he wasn't sure that he could.

Shame made him drop his eyes to the table top

He was aware that he was wasting away. Ever since sharing that small amount of magic with Tony he had felt exhausted. And when he had checked himself earlier in the mirror, removing his glamor to see, he had been met with a skeleton. The burn on his chest seemed even darker. The lash marks on his back stood out more. His eyes were sunken into his face. He could count his ribs.

(He was so ugly, now.)

"Here. Come get some cereal," Tony said, pointing to a brightly colored cardboard box, a milk carton and two bowls he had set out on the counter.

Loki stood up, and his head spun with dizziness. He caught himself with a hand on the side of the chair.

**Mr. Odinson? Are you feeling well?**

Loki inhaled sharply, glancing around wildly, shrinking against the side of the table and putting a hand up as if to protect himself. "What was that?"

Tony walked over to him, and put a hand on his shoulder. "S'just Jarvis. He's my AI."

"AI?" Loki repeated, breathlessly, taking an unconscious step back. "I don't understand."

He never understood anything.

Tony dropped his eyes to the ground. "Artificial Intelligence. It's a computer, helps me with stuff. Can't hurt you. And are you feeling all right?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Now, as I was saying. Cereal? I've got your favorite - Lucky Charms."

"My favorite?"

Tony shook his head. "Nevermind. But it's got marshmallows. I think you'll like it."

Loki knew he was missing something. Knew he was being stupid. But he allowed Tony to prepare a bowl of cereal for him, pretending that it wasn't because he knew his own hands would shake if he tried to do it himself.

And when Tony handed him the bowl, and turned to make his own, Loki took a deep breath, and picked up the spoon in a trembling hand.

"It's not good," he said, when Tony turned back around, swallowing to pretend that he had just eaten a bite. "I don't like it."

"You ate it a few days ago," Tony said, sounding nervous. "You said it was good, but that you weren't hungry. You said you liked the marshmallows a lot."

Loki set the bowl on the counter, focusing on standing. His knees felt like they were going to give out. He pressed his hand against his eyes, because the lights were too bright and his head kept pounding.

"You sure you're okay? Hey, hey, Jarvis?"

**Mr. Odinson is suffering from dizziness and a headache.**

Loki stiffened. His glamour could hide most things, but apparently it couldn't hide that. And why could this mysterious voice tell, anyway? What _was_ it?

"Sit down," Tony ordered, helping him to walk to a chair. Loki would have protested, but he felt too weak to walk on his own. He hated how relieved he felt when he sat down.

Instead of sitting across from him, Tony pulled a chair next to his, and plopped into it, immediately putting an arm around Loki's shoulder and holding his hand with the other. And Loki hated how he leaned into the touch, drew comfort from it.

"Okay," Tony said. "We're having another talk. And this one's important."

Loki hunched over, covered his chest with his free arm, kept his eyes on the ground. The Chitauri used to like it when he looked at the ground. _Know your place._

"When was the last time you ate?" Tony asked, gently, squeezing his hand.

Loki closed his eyes.

_Eat._

_Eat._

_Finish the job._

_Open your mouth._

He jerked involuntarily, wrenched his hand out of Tony's and pressed it against his cheek, trying to wipe away the water from his eyes without Tony noticing. And hopefully, he wouldn't notice the shakes, either.

He was so tired.

And so hungry.

_Hungry, Laufeyson?_

_Then open your mouth._

_Whore._

Laughter echoed through his head. He squeezed his eyes shut again. He hated this. He wanted to shove Tony away, wanted to stand up and raise his chin and lie, pretend that he was fine.

But he was too tired to stand.

And that _scared_ him. He didn't want to… to starve. He _didn't want to die,_ at least not in this way, but he couldn't…

Couldn't eat.

At least, not on his own.

He let out a shuddering breath.

**The last time Mr. Odinson ate was two days ago, when he had a bite of a granola bar. However, ever since he arrived here, the portions he has consumed have not nearly enough to keep him healthy.**

"Fuck," Tony muttered. Loki couldn't look at him. "Jarvis, why didn't you tell me?"

**I have been trying, sir. His magic has been preventing me from alerting you.**

"Loki," Tony said, voice near to breaking. "Why would you do that?"

"I'm sorry," Loki said, as shame burned him alive. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't… I don't know."

"Loki, look at me."

Loki took a shaky breath, and he turned to meet Tony's eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I don't know what to do."

Perhaps, back when he still had pride, he would never have admitted this. But back when he had pride, he would have been able to force himself to eat.

And he wouldn't have felt so reassured when Tony smiled sadly and took both of his hands. "That's okay," he said. "That's okay. Cause I'll help you. Rule five, okay? We will both, always, help each other. Because we're both a mess." He laughed, and Loki managed to laugh weakly as well, without it sounding completely like a sob. "But it's much easier to be a mess with someone else than to be a mess all by yourself."

Loki nodded, and yes, the shame ate him up from the inside out, but the strangest, most wonderful feeling of comfort quickly replaced everything that had been eaten away.

()()()

"It's a glamour," Loki admitted, when Tony asked him how he had been able to keep looking so healthy, to even appear to put on weight. "I don't actually look like this."

They had moved to the couch, and Tony had put some distance between them, leaving Loki curled up cross-legged in the corner of the couch, tempted to grab a pillow and hold it to his chest, and hating how tempted he was. He was also cold. Normally he loved the cold, but now he... he would rather be warm. Maybe.

Tony was sitting with one leg pulled up unnaturally on top of the other, picking at his sleeve. "And what do you look like?" he asked, running a hand over his face.

Loki hesitated, but it seemed that Tony already knew the answer..

"And why the hell would you hide it from me? Why the _hell_ did you do that?" he snapped, something in his face twitching violently.

Loki swallowed hard.

Anger was never a good sign.

(Dammit. Why couldn't he have hidden this better?)

"Are you mad at me?" he asked, in a voice that came out much too weak and small for his liking.

Tony barked out a cold laugh.

"No, I'm fucking _pissed_ at you. I'm pissed," Tony said, clenching his hands into fists and letting out a sharp breath. "Because you could have just _told_ me, and I could have helped you, and now you wouldn't be fucking emaciated!" he shouted the last word, finally looking at Loki, just in time to catch his accidental flinch..

"Sorry," Tony muttered. "Sorry. Shouldn't've yelled. I'm not even mad at you, actually. I'm mad at my own fucking self, for not figuring it out sooner. I should've figured it out. It was - it _should have been_ so fucking obvious."

Loki stiffened, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm sorry."

"No, _I'm_ the one who…" Tony cut himself off with a broken laugh, running a hand through his hair, dropping his eyes to the two feet of couch between them. "Nevermind. Nevermind. This isn't even fucking important. Will you eat something?" he asked, looking up to meet Loki's eyes again.

Loki swallowed. "I _can't."_

"Yes, you can," Tony said, shifting both of his legs up onto the couch to mimic Loki's position. "Come _on._ You're Loki! Prince of Asgard, wielder of epic magic, survivor of Thanos, who tossed me - Tony Stark! - out a window like I was a crumpled up piece of paper! You. Can do. Anything."

He looked so serious, so honest, with a small smile pulling at his lips and a few shiny tears caught in his beard - that Loki almost, almost, managed to believe him.

But Tony must have seen something in his eyes, because he reached across to put an awkward hand on his arm, and said, "If you won't do it for yourself, if you _can't_ do it for yourself, then at least do it for me."

Loki stared at him, trying to remember why Tony would care. Had he known, once, and just forgotten?

"Please?" Tony said, desperately.

"Don't beg," Loki said, gently prying Tony's hand away from his arm. "It doesn't suit you."

Tony went quiet, chewing on his lip, staring at the ground. Then he snapped his fingers, and looked up at Loki, with a genuine smile on his face this time. "They never poisoned your water, did they?"

"No…"

"Then how 'bout a smoothie?"

And he was off the couch, telling Loki to stay put, running into the kitchen and flinging the fridge open. He hummed as he pulled random items out, but he accidentally dropped an apple and had to stop humming in order to say, "Fuck." He picked it up and took a bite without washing it. Loki grimaced.

Then he dumped everything (minus the bitten apple) into a machine, which rumbled like a loudly growling stomach. When it was done he poured the pink mixture into two tall glasses, adding one swirly piece of plastic to each.

He practically bounced as he came back to the couch, and eagerly shoved one of the glasses into Loki's hand.

"What is this?" Loki asked, pointing at the strange tube of plastic.

"Curly straw," he said, and took a sip from his own. "It's not necessary, but it's, like, _necessary._ Mmm, that's good. Maybe needs some more vanilla, though. What do you think?"

Loki didn't know whether to laugh or scowl at Tony's not-so-subtle tactics.

He decided to just take a sip.

And it was good. And sweet. And he had always like sweet things, despite the times Thor jokingly called him _argr_ for it. He knew it was a joke.

_Thor._

Loki quickly pushed the thought of his false-brother away.

"It's good," he said.

"Good. I want you to drink the whole glass," Tony said.

Loki's heart sank. He could manage a few sips, but an entire glass of it… already, dread and anxiety were rising up in his throat. The same dread, and the same anxiety he had felt whenever the Chitauri would give him food, and he wouldn't know if it was poisoned, wouldn't know if he was going to be fed or going to be racked by the most horrible waves of pain, leaving him vomiting and writhing and screaming on the floor.

"_Eat."_

His hand must have been shaking, or perhaps he was too weak to lift even this much, because suddenly the glass fell to the floor and shattered, dousing Loki's feet and the floor in the ice-cold smoothie. The loud noise made Loki flinch, more violently than he had flinched since Thor left.

For an instant, all he could do was stare.

His _heart_ hurt. Something in his chest was aching.

(What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he even hold a glass?)

_Broken, broken._

He covered his face with his hands and tried not to cry. But a small, pathetic noise escaped his throat regardless. And he knew what it was. _A whimper._

When Tony put a hand on his shoulder, he flinched again, sucked in a short breath, stiffened, and Tony pulled his hand away briefly, only to scoot over to sit right next to him, and put his arm around his shoulders. "Hey, _hey_, Loki. What's wrong? What's wrong?"

Loki tried, unsuccessfully, to retain some of his dignity, to push down his tears and force his eyes to look blank instead of whatever humiliating emotion was filling them. He tried to bring himself to speak, to make a casual, cutting comment that would stifle Tony's attempts to comfort him. But every time he tried to talk, he couldn't, because it came out as a whimpering hitch of a breath.

"S'okay," Tony said, pulling him into his arms. "Rule five. This is me helping you, but soon I'm sure it'll be your turn to help me. It's a trade-off. Just business."

Loki laughed into his hands. He wasn't sure if it came out as a laugh, or as a sob.

"This doesn't make you weak," Tony said, sort of rocking him back and forth, and Loki wondered how he knew what Loki had been thinking. "Everyone needs a good cry sometimes, that's all. It's human nature."

_I'm not human._

Loki let out a sob, shoulders shaking.

Tony pulled him closer.

"That's okay," he said. "It's okay. It's perfectly okay to cry."

And the idea was so ridiculous - that people were free to cry here without being labeled _argr_ or weaklings or women, that Loki allowed himself to embrace it. To embrace the notion that perhaps he could cry, and allow Tony to hug him, and that he could see be seen as strong, regardless.

Eventually he would come back to his senses, and hate himself for this.

But for now, he was too tired.

And Tony was so warm. And the closeness, it… it was comforting.

(Ha! How he had fallen from grace.)

But perhaps he could just have a day, this time. Just until the end of the day, to allow himself to be comforted, and to cry if he had to, filthy tears all over Tony's shoulder.

And just a day to pretend that he could do all of that, and be anything but pitifully weak.

(Because he _needed _it. More than he had ever needed anything in his life.)

This pretending, this false comfort, false pride - it was like a drug. He was _addicted_ to it.

And so he fell deep into that warmth, and he laid his head on Tony's shoulder, let out a sigh, and closed his eyes as the tears streamed silently down his cheeks.

()()()

Once Loki's breakdown had ended, Tony put on a movie - the third of the Harry Potter series, which was apparently his favorite. And he had one of his robots clean up Loki's mess, luckily, because Loki would have felt horrendously guilty if Tony knelt down to clean it himself.

Tony also made him a mug of tea, which smelled divine. With the first sip, Loki could tell that he had added something to it. "Protein powder," Tony explained, when Loki asked. He didn't explain what protein powder was, and while Loki could guess, he didn't really care. It tasted wonderful, regardless.

This time, Tony didn't tell him to drink all of it, didn't even mention it, actually, which somehow made the anxiety all but disappear.

When the characters on the screen started firing random spells at each other, Loki burst out, "There is no subtlety here at all! They're throwing spells around like they're dodgeballs. If this was real, they would have exploded the entire castle by now."

Tony laughed harder and longer than was necessary, and pulled Loki closer with the arm that was around his shoulder. Then he cocked an eyebrow and asked, "You play dodgeball in Asgard?"

Loki hesitated. "Duckball, perhaps? That could be a more similar translation? Not quite sure. But the warriors crowd around in a circle, and there are two in the center," he gestured wildly with his hands, and Tony watched him as if he was explaining the most interesting thing in the world. "And the warriors on the side all chant this ridiculously complex rhyme, which ends with 'Dodge or suffer, dodge or suffer'."

Tony snorted. "Typical Asgard."

"Indeed. And the warriors on the side all throw balls - or boulders, sometimes - at the two in the center, and the first to get hit loses the game. I wasn't allowed to play, because I would always use magic to ensure my victory."

Tony snorted again. "Typical Loki. Of course you would."

Loki allowed himself to smile, and to drop his head down onto Tony's shoulder. Tony took his hand, and they watched the movie together.

As much as he searched, he couldn't find that anxiety, or that dread, that used to live inside him like some deadly parasite. It was gone. Replaced by warmth and relief and peace.

And a debt he could never repay.

()()()

"It's time to sleep," Tony announced. They had spent the day milling around, doing nothing productive, before finally going back to the couch. Tony had made Loki another cup of tea, and he had drank about half of it. Loki glanced at the clock, which read 12:00. He wasn't sure if the Midgardian time system was the same as the one on Asgard, but twelve seemed as good a time to sleep as any.

But neither of them moved.

"We cuddled last night," Tony observed, glancing at him. "I mean. Y'know what I… I mean?"

Loki let out a sigh.

"What?" Tony asked, indignantly, pulling a leg up onto the couch in the most unnatural position achievable.

"Must you always say everything in the most awkward way possible?" he asked.

"No."

"Then ask me," he said, smiling mischievously. "_Say it."_

Tony spluttered. "Wha… why do you have to make everything as difficult as possible?"

Loki smirked. "Well, if you have nothing better to do than insult me, I suppose I shall retire to my couch in the far corner."

Not that he wouldn't mind sleeping on the same couch as Tony. In fact, it might be nice.

But it was also nice to watch him squirm.

"Fine!" he burst out, glaring. "Fine." He pulled another leg up onto the couch and cleared his throat. "Why hello there, Prince Loki. Wouldst thou desire to cuddle with me throughout this long and arduous night?"

"Well, it would truly be an insult to my station to touch such an inferior peasant as you," Loki said, pretending to be deeply considering the question, although he had already made up his mind. "But I suppose, if you gave me a foot massage, I could…"

"Not on your life," Tony muttered, shoving him away, and managing to maintain his pretense of anger for a few seconds before bursting into laughter.

Loki laughed, too.

And Tony grabbed them a blanket and two pillows, and they laid down together on the couch.

However, a few minutes after Tony fell asleep, he rolled over with a sleepy murmur, ending up with his back pressed against Loki's chest, and a headful of hair in front of Loki's face, tickling his chin.

And even when Tony's nightmares entered Loki's mind, he did not find them nearly so terrifying, when he could still feel the warmth of Tony's body against his.

()()()

"Re-do," Tony said.

"What?"

They were sitting at the table, and Tony had made them both eggs "out of principle", along with tall glasses of orange juice. Loki was greatly enjoying his.

"Re-do," Tony insisted.

"You'll have to explain yourself sooner or later," Loki said, taking a sip from his curly straw.

Tony grabbed his glass and pulled it away. "Our little excursion to Montreal, y'know, that calamity," he waved a hand. "We're gonna re-do it. Re-do."

He sounded so sure of himself that Loki couldn't help but smile at his eagerness. "And how will we prevent the people from recognizing us?"

Tony practically cackled.

"Makeup!" he cried. "Makeup, makeup, makeup. Wall-E can do it, can'tcha, Wall-E?"

They both glanced at the little robot on the floor. It _whrr_'ed passionately.

"He has arms, I swear," Tony said. "But he's in his Roomba form right now. Cleaning the floor." He leaned down and patted the robot affectionately on the head.

"Or," Loki interrupted. "I could provide a glamour for us. It's much safer," he said, when Tony glared at him.

"But…"

"Trust me, I wouldn't only be doing this for you. I, too, would like to go outside, and I do not desire to be punched in the face by any passers-by, either."

"Not happening," Tony muttered, shoving the glass of orange juice back to Loki. "Never in a million years."

"It won't take much more energy. I'm already using one for…"

"That's why I can't let you! You need your magic for _healing. _In fact, I should make you take off the glamour you're already wearing!" Loki clearly saw Tony wince as he replayed his own words in his mind.

But Loki just scoffed, taking a sip of orange juice and waving a hand through the air. "How could you ever _make me_ remove my glamour?"

Tony scowled, hunching down over his plate. "Annoy you to death."

"Stop being such a child," Loki said. He stabbed his fork through the egg on his plate, and it remained standing up when he removed his hand, quivering slightly. "You have two options," he stuck two fingers in the air. "Either we stay here, cooped up in this house." He lowered a finger, and stuck the remaining one in Tony's face. "_Or_, we find a _safe_ way to leave, where there is no chance of our being found, and my being forced to stab an innocent civilian. Speaking of, whatever happened to the men I exploded last time?"

Tony's scowl deepened. "They were fine. Hospitalized for weeks but probably'll be ll'right," he mumbled, turning the last few words into one, mushed up word.

Loki nodded. "See? It is not a good idea to go outside if there is even a chance of being recognized. You are the Iron Viper, remember? In the eyes of the…"

"Of course I fucking remember!" Tony burst out.

"Then?" Loki asked, calmly raising an eyebrow.

Tony muttered something obscene, and shoved a forkful of egg into his mouth.

()()()

"If you seem tired, we're going home," Tony said. "If you refuse, then I'll fucking carry you. And I'm bringing us both thermos's of tea, which we will drink, because it's fucking important to stay hydrated. Got that?"

"Yes," Loki said, rolling his eyes. Inwardly reeling over the fact that Tony had called this their 'home.'

"Right. Well, I haaave something for you!" Tony cried, singing the word, and handing Loki a plastic bag. "It's kinda old, and it's the tallest one I have but I know it won't fit you, so I figured since you're gonna be wearing a glamour and stuff you could just change your body to make it fit? If you want?"

"Norns," Loki said, when he opened the bag.

Tony hopped from foot to foot, his hands clasped behind his back. "C'mon, gimme something here. 'Norns' could mean anything. Are you gonna put it on, or are you gonna blow up the house because you hate it so much?"

"The former," Loki breathed. "Thank you."

He went into the bathroom and put on Tony's offering - a black suit. It was too short, and too wide, but he still spent about a minute staring at himself in the mirror, adjusting the cuffs and lifting his chin.

How unexpected.

He looked good.

Well, he always looked good, of course.

This was simply an improvement upon something which had already been spectacular.

Nevertheless, he grinned.

"Is that a saunter?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow as Loki exited the bathroom and did a twirl with his arms out.

"You shall address me only as 'my liege' and will hasten to fulfill my every whim or desire," Loki said, feeling like himself. He gestured towards Tony, who was leaning casually against the counter and grinning. "Firstly, go get changed. I won't be seen in public with you looking like such a guttersnipe. Afterwards, you will polish my shoes, and I'm still waiting for that foot massage."

"Fuck you too, my liege," Tony said, grinning and saluting him. Then he turned on his heel - somehow, despite the fact that he had been leaning against the counter - and disappeared without a word, although the middle finger he was holding up spoke volumes.

And Loki barely managed to hold back his laughter until he was gone.

()()()

Tony emerged from the hallway with his arms up, dark sunglasses perched on his nose, and the most serious look on his face, that Loki would have laughed if it wasn't for one glaring detail.

"We're matching."

"Hm," Tony said.

"You're wearing the _same damn thing_ as me."

Tony grinned and lowered his sunglasses. "Complaining?"

Loki scowled and crossed his arms. "Just come here."

Tony walked forward, spun in a circle as he did so, and came to an abrupt halt directly in front of Loki, who took a step back. "I want to be blonde," Tony said. "With rippling biceps and perfectly diagonal toes. Oh, and make me a woman." He grinned. "I've never been one, you see. I think it would be an _enlightening_ experience."

"I can only make you someone I've seen, and whose image I remember well. Or you could show me a picture."

"Got any hot Asgardian babes in that memory of yours?" Tony asked.

"No," Loki said, flatly.

"You sure about that?"

Loki stared him down intensely, and Tony stared right back.

"Fine," Loki said, and in the blink of an eye, Tony was Sif.

"Oh shit," he said.

Instantly, his eyes went down to his chest.

"Oh _shit."_

He looked exactly like Sif - of course his did, because Loki's glamours were always impeccable - from the rope of hair protruding from the back of his head, to the perfectly lined toes, and even the voluminous breasts sticking out of his chest, wobbling around like hunks of Jell-O (Tony had shown him Jell-O once. Loki had despised everything about it.)

Tony's face split in a childish grin (and in many ways, he really was just like an immature child) and he thrust his chest out and poked one of his breasts experimentally. It wobbled.

"I could put an eye out with these things," he said.

Loki snorted, causing Tony to look up at him. His eyes widened and he jumped back, clutching the table as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. "Holy fucking shitballs. That is terrifying."

"Much more terrifying when he is coming at you with an axe, screaming bloody murder," Loki said, stroking his red beard thoughtfully. "Is this better?" he asked, and changed from Volstagg into Fandral.

"Too…" Tony waved his arms around. "Mustachey."

"I always thought so," Loki said. He turned into Hogun. "This?"

"It's the best so far. Although…" he hesitated. "Are you sure you can't let me just… see your actual face? And your normal body? Instead of that?" he gestured vaguely at Loki's new face. "It's freaking me out."

"It is a glamour. It alters your perception. So it is simple to make it so you are unaffected, while everyone else would remain to see me in this form." He allowed the glamour to melt away from Tony's mind. "Better?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

And if Tony felt it when Loki removed the image of Sif from him, so that Loki could see _his_ actual face, and body, as well, he didn't say a word.

()()()

Tony drove them to a beach. But after he spent ten minutes trying to find a parking spot, while swearing profusely, Loki suggested that they give up and go somewhere else.

Tony suggested a restaurant, but Jarvis informed them that all the good ones were full, and all the bad ones were crowded.

"Shopping?" Tony asked, after they had waited in the drive-thru of a Taco Bell - which he apparently found hilarious, that there was a Taco Bell in Mexico - and bought a burrito for each of them. Suddenly, he grabbed Loki's arm. "Shopping!"

"Please don't smile like that, it is unnerving," Loki said.

Tony threw back his head and cackled. "I'm gonna take a Norse god clothes shopping!" He sighed and leaned back in his seat. "I love my life."

()()()

Tony let him loose in the store, apparently feeling like a mother bird chucking her chick out of the nest for the first time. He wiped at his eyes, and then rubbed his hands together, grinned devilishly, and headed off into another part of the store.

Loki wandered around aimlessly, running his hands over the racks of clothes. All so unfamiliar. He picked up a shirt and sniffed it, and ignored a woman who was staring at him as if he had just ripped off his clothes in the middle of the damn store. He just wanted to see what it _smelled like._

But once he looked at her, he realized that a good number of other people were looking at him - just casually, glancing at him as they passed by - but it set him on edge, and he found himself walking on the edges of the store, jerking involuntarily whenever someone brushed past him.

However, he did find a shirt that he liked. It was black, and it was soft.

"Everything all right, sir?" someone asked.

He spun around, swallowing and backing up until his back hit a wall.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Didn't intend to startle you," she said, laughing as if someone had just told a funny joke. She was tall, wearing a blazer and horn-rimmed glasses. And a ridiculous, false, purple-lipped smile.

Loki let out a huff, annoyed at himself. He stepped away from the wall and muttered, "Leave me, mortal."

He had just enough time to see her jaw drop in an impressive imitation of a fish out of water, before he turned and stalked away. It took every ounce of self-control he had to walk through the crowd, and to not flinch every time he accidentally brushed against someone.

When he saw Tony, he was appalled at the amount of relief he felt.

But that didn't change the fact that he felt it.

Or that, as soon as Tony grinned and grabbed his hand, nearly all of the anxiety seemed to simply disappear. Like magic.

Although it was difficult to remind himself that they were wearing glamours, of a man and a woman, so no one would find it strange that they were holding hands. Nevertheless, Loki was tempted to pull away. It felt so… wrong, to be showing off this closeness, in such a public place. They had done it on the Mont Royal, but that was different, somehow.

Tony seemed perfectly at ease, and his mood was infectious, so Loki allowed himself to relax, although that little pinprick of guilt continued to gnaw at the back of his mind.

When they reached the counter, Loki ripped his hand out of Tony's and folded them both behind his back. Impressively, the cashier's wide smile never wavered. Tony dumped all of their clothes onto the counter, and within a few minutes they were each carrying an enormous plastic bag of clothes. Which were basically all Tony's, as Loki had only gotten the one shirt.

"Good haul," Tony said, opening his to inspect the contents as they walked, as if he hadn't just bought them. "Oh, and the weirdest thing happened," he said, grabbing Loki's shoulder with his other hand to make him stop walking. "This dude was totally ogling me. And I mean, I get ogled all the time, by men and women, obviously - I'm Iron Man." He started walking again, and so Loki trailed along beside him. "But it was different. Not different, different, but I _knew_ it was different, which made it different."

"You… receive male attention often?" Loki asked, having ignored all the rest of Tony's story in favor of focusing on that one detail.

"Oh, yeah. All the time. I mean, I am pretty attractive," Tony said, shrugging. He pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket as they left the store. Then he stopped suddenly, looking around. "Where the hell did I park? Oh. Yeah. Weird bendy tree."

"And this does not… insult you?" Loki asked, hesitantly, as Tony pulled him along the street. Someone brushed past him, and he flinched away, which caused Tony to pull him closer and squeeze his hand. It was probably automatic, because when he spoke he sounded angry, and no longer in a hand-squeezing mood.

"Hell… no, what the fuck are you talking about? Seriously?" He stepped away from Loki, letting go of his hand, leaving Loki standing alone in the middle of a crowded sidewalk, with his heart thudding in his chest. "God. Vikings. Should've expected… but I thought at least _you_ might be smarter than that." He closed his eyes, pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead.

It took Loki a second or two to realize why Tony was angry, and then he managed to calm down enough to grab Tony's wrist and say, "That's not what I meant. Perhaps things are different here than in Asgard. I think we're just miscommunicating."

"We better be," Tony said, before reluctantly turning to drag Loki along again. "C'mon, the car isn't far, and we shouldn't have this conversation here; we'll clog up the sidewalk."

Once they got in the car, the first thing Tony did was hand Loki the thermos. "Drink some," he said.

Loki ignored the little voice in his head that told him how weak he must be that he needed someone else to force him to eat, because he couldn't do it himself.

Tony watched him silently as he drank. Loki took a few gulps, and when he was done, Tony shook his head. "Nope. You've gotta be thirsty; we were in there for a long time. Drink a little more."

"I'm not thirsty," Loki said, to the dashboard, feeling like a piece of dirt.

"Are you hungry?" Tony asked, sounding desperate. "I'll get you anything you want. Anything."

"No."

Tony let out a sigh. "Okay. Okay, then. So what was that all about? All of…" he gestured towards the window. "That."

"Nothing," Loki said, rubbing circles in his forehead with his pointer finger, squeezing his eyes shut. "It's just different on Asgard. I assumed it would be the same here. It's nothing."

"Okay," Tony muttered, under his breath. "Y'know what… it's… it's… it's been a hell of a day. I mean, this was fun, but I'm ready to go. Are you? Ready to… ready to go? Probably. I think I'll just drive. Yeah." He turned the key and the car started with an electronic hum. "We should probably go. S'just… nerves are high. Today." He put the car into gear. "Not the right time. For anything. Don't know why I thought this was a good idea."

He stopped, and dropped his forehead down onto the steering wheel.

Loki hesitated, eyeing the way his knuckles were white on the wheel. Then, tentatively, he put a hand on his shoulder. "It was a wonderful idea."

"Thanks," Tony muttered, his voice muffled because his mouth was squished against the center of the steering wheel. "Thanks, bud."

"You are welcome," Loki whispered, staring at him.

Tony sat up with another sigh, and with a growl, the car sped out of the parking lot and drove away.


	18. STATUS UPDATE (not a real chapter)

THIS IS NOT A REAL CHAPTER! Just an update on the status of this fic.

I won't be updating this story any more on . I've moved to AO3 and don't think I'll be using this site very much anymore, if at all. I do have a lot more chapters of this posted on AO3 if you'd like to read them, as well as some other works I've been working on, which are somewhat similar to this, that you might enjoy. I apologize if you've been waiting for updates, I shouldn't have left you all hanging like that. But I do hope you'll give my works on AO3 a try, because I would be delighted to see you there! And I'd just like to say that I truly do appreciate all of your reviews and favorites that you left on this fic, and to thank you all for taking the time to read it.


End file.
